Ruby Slippers
by Aquila1
Summary: Sometimes the journey isn't over once you get home. Peter and Olivia find their way back to each other. The epilogue at long last.
1. We're not in Kansas anymore

**Ruby Slippers**

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing related to The Mentalist, just the thoughts in my head.

**Rating**: T(violence and mild swearing)

**Summary**: There's no place like home – a journey both within and without as Peter and Olivia find their way back to each other.

**Spoilers: **Post-ep to Over There 1 & 2

**Author's Notes**: I know it's not exactly original, but I just had to write this. This is my first foray into the Fringe universe(s) and the first plot-driven multi-chapter story I've written in years. So, although I'm not new to fanfic writing, I have to admit to being a little nervous about posting this. I'm relatively new to Fringe, so I apologize if I've missed a fact here or there.

This will be several chapters long and while it's not finished, I do have the entire thing mapped out, so hopefully I'll be able to stay on track. I warn you, reader, I'm a slow writer. Still, chapter 2 is nearly done and soon to be off to my beta and the fun I'm having with this will hopefully propel my writing faster than usual. I have to get it done before September one way or another, especially since I haven't yet read any other Over There post-eps. I won't let myself indulge until I've finished this, so I'll have a lot to catch up on. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

Thanks, as always, to my fantastic beta who forces me to reach the outer limits of my vocabulary.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_"We're not in Kansas anymore."_**  
**

Faintly calloused fingers skated along her jawline, trailing both fire and ice in their wake before sliding up to thread their way through her now russet strands. Sighing contentedly, she sank deeper into his embrace, wrapping herself in his familiar scent and strength like a well-worn blanket.

'_This is home,' _she thought fiercely as his hands fell from her hair to settle at the base of her spine, pulling their bodies flush and leaving her with no doubt as to the extent of her effect on him.

His lips found a sensitive spot behind her ear, sending a delicious shiver skittering along her every nerve down to the tips of her toes.

"I belong with you," his words breaking over the sensitive skin of her neck, a warm wave that threatened to sweep her knees out from under her, dragging her along with the tide.

The simple assertion, an echo of her earlier confession, finally breached the carefully constructed dam around her heart, releasing a flood of emotions that threatened to drag her under. Pushing off from his chest, Olivia snagged Peter's eyes with purpose. The warning in their dark depths was clear, but he didn't pull away as she slid her hands behind his head and rose up on tiptoe to fuse her lips solidly with his. Saline droplets glistens on her lashes before forging trails down her cheeks as she forced her way into his mouth, pouring the gallons of fear, determination, confusion and, yes, love that had been boiling in her chest these last few months into a bruising kiss. Peter, for his part, took it all, consuming her desperation and feeding her strength as she rode out the wave.

When oxygen finally became more important than exorcising her demons, Olivia released him with a quiet gasp, creating only enough space for the much-needed air to rush over her swollen lips. Rocking back on her heels, she stumbled slightly, listing dangerously to one side until Peter caught her under the arms and slipped his knee between her legs to steady her.

Dropping his forehead to hers, he chuckled low in his throat, warm breath ghosting across her face, reminding her of how cold she'd been for so long. "Never thought I'd see the day when the great Olivia Dunham swooned."

Olivia narrowed her eyes at him before nipping at his lower lip in retaliation. He caught her before should could retreat, pulling her back in. This kiss started out far gentler than the last, but built quickly, spinning out of control as he dragged the zipper of her leather jacket down and his hands found their way up and under her shirt.

The brand of his skin against the bare small of her back drew a whimper from deep within, a sound that was quickly swallowed up by Peter's questing mouth. The desperation rose again within her chest, fuelling her almost frenzied attempt to crawl up inside of him, to disappear into his arms and never come out.

The rollercoaster of emotions was making her sick. Less than twenty-four hours earlier, after weeks of frantic searching, she'd been trying to accept that he'd left her behind for good, choosing his birthright over his makeshift family and crossing over to the other side forever. Now he was here in front of her and she couldn't let go, couldn't get close enough, hoping his warmth might melt the chill that had settled within her heart.

A crash from behind startled her, forcing Olivia to drag her lips from his. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of a bright flash of light before the room was plunged into darkness. Turning back, Peter was gone, her arms were empty and the cold rushed back in.

The unforgiving cement bench bit into her shoulder as Olivia slowly regained consciousness. Blinking did nothing to beat back the darkness. The slot in the door had already closed and any light that had been in the empty room was long gone. Reality hit her hard, a sickening blow to the gut that sent panic bubbling up into her throat.

She was alone.

She was captured, trapped, locked away in a deep, dark dungeon while everyone she'd ever cared about went on with their lives, oblivious to her plight. The last thing she remembered before she'd wound up here was her doppelganger pulling off her jacket. She was sure that she'd been replaced.

'_Peter will know.'_

No matter how many times she tried to reassure herself with that particular affirmation, it brought her no comfort. Even if Peter did discover the truth, there was nothing he could do. The door was closed and they'd forfeited the key when they had lost Nick and the others. There was no one coming to rescue her.

Leaning her head back against the tiled wall, Olivia rubbed at her eyes, wincing at the grit that ground against her eyelids. Sleep was rare and hardly restful. She was never certain when light would slice through the darkness, blinding her after so many hours without it, or noise would buzz up around her like an invisible swarm of hornets, or some sort of sustenance would be shoved through the slot in the door. The lack of routine and random shots of discomfort was designed to obliterate her sense of time and space, a common torture technique even in her universe. Its goal was to destroy her connection with the outside world ... to destroy her humanity.

On its own, it likely wouldn't work. Olivia had been trained to withstand worse measures of torture than this during her tenure with both the marines and the FBI. Hell, some of Walter's 'experiments' made her current routine seem like little more than an annoyance. However, it didn't end there.

Sometimes the door would open.

She was never ready for it, never prepared to fight back. The lack of routine had dulled her awareness, leaving her vulnerable to surprise. Strong hands would clamp around her arms and sharp pain would pierce her neck. When the fog cleared she would find herself in the grey room.

In a strange, hazy way, the grey room reminded her of Walter's lab in the bowels of Harvard: drab walls, solemn shadows. But that was where the similarities ended. Where Walter's lab had become over the last year or so a sort of twisted sanctuary, Walternate's playroom was simply a house of horrors, complete with a mad scientist and evil henchmen.

Olivia would inevitably wake up in the grey room strapped to a chair, IVs in both hands and electrodes taped to strategic locations about her body. She almost laughed at how commonplace this occurrence had become, both here and back in her own universe. The position almost left her homesick, but then the drugs would flow and thinking was no longer under her control.

She could only assume that it was this world's version of Cortexiphan, however, Walter's concoction seemed like sugar water compared to the poison they pumped into her veins. The visions were dark and brutal, cutting deep into her already damaged psyche with her most-closely held fears. She predictably thrashed and screamed, nearly tearing out her restraints as one-by-one, everyone she'd ever cared for was taken away from her over and over again.

By the time her tear-soaked cheeks slammed against the tile floor of her cell, Olivia's throat was raw and every cell in her body burned with exhaustion and despair.

After revelling for a moment in the relief of cool ceramic against her overheated skin, she pushed herself up onto her knees. Her arms barely able to support her weight, she dragged herself across the tiny room, collapsing into a heap in the corner, using the walls for support. Dropping her head to her chest, Olivia closed her eyes, forcing herself to control her breathing, to bring order back to the chaos of her fractured mind.

She had yet to ascertain the purpose of these sessions, if they were to drag secrets of the other side from her uncontrollable lips, to discover her hidden 'talents' or simply Walternate's way of making her pay for losing his son again, but she was certain of one thing.

They were priming the pump.

'_You have to find your way back to that scared little girl.'_

'_We don't have a way to cross over, Olivia, but you do.'_

She was pretty sure that the good Mr. Secretary was not yet aware of the storm he was creating. She could feel it building from deep in her core, a cumulonimbus of pain and fury, swirling layer upon layer, energy crackling from within. She didn't need to be afraid anymore. Anger worked just fine.

Opening her eyes, she glanced down, the inky darkness receding in the face of a hazy blue glow that swirled over the skin of her hands like a will-o-the-wisp. Drawing from deep within, she couldn't help the tiny smile that tugged at her lips as the glow grew faintly brighter, reflected in the deep green of her irises.

Unconsciously, she clicked her heels together three times, whispering under her breath, "There's no place like home."

* * *

Soft tendrils of hair swept delicately across his bare chest, an artist's brush leaving her signature on his soul. Blowing out a long, slow, contented breath, Peter glanced up at the jade coloured eyes that gazed warmly back at him from beneath an auburn curtain.

He was still getting used to the hair.

As Olivia fell forward, settling herself over his heart, her head tucked under his chin, Peter conceded that her appearance wasn't the only thing he was getting used to. Satiated and comfortable, he glided his hands up along her sweat-slicked back, detailing the contours of her spine before tracing lazy circles between her shoulder blades, enjoying the warm blanket of her hair. Olivia nearly purred in response, bonelessly fumbling for the nearest sheet to pull over their quickly cooling bodies.

Chuckling at her fruitless efforts, Peter snagged the comforter and completed the task, tucking them both into a flannel cocoon.

"Never thought I'd see the day I rendered the great Olivia Dunham helpless."

All he got in response was a snort of derision and her fingers digging into his ribs.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, trying to wriggle deeper into the mattress, away from the onslaught. "Stop it or you're going on the floor."

"Nope," she mumbled into his skin, sliding an arm between the bed and his body, pulling him in tightly as she wound her leg around his. "I'm right where I belong."

Warmth unfurled in his chest at her words, spreading out along every neuron, soothing his battered heart as its pounding slowed in time with hers beating steadily above him. Stretching forward, he dropped a kiss behind her ear and whispered, "Me too," surprised to discover that he actually meant it.

After years of running, of feeling out of place, of searching for a life he could slip into, Peter had found everything he was looking for wrapped up in the woman currently curled like a cat around him. In the space of only a few weeks, she'd managed to both destroy his world and become it. The ease with which he'd left her behind shamed him now in the bright light of hindsight. He'd been so occupied with nursing his anger and discovering the hard way that you truly could never go home again that she'd had to risk her life to show him where that home really lay.

Pressing a lingering kiss over his heart, eyelashes fluttering kisses of their own along his skin, Olivia shifted and settled into the crook of his arm. As sleep tugged at his senses, Peter couldn't help but smile.

'_I could get used to this.'_

The racket of breaking glass and a scuffle dragged him rudely from his slumber with a gasp. Stretching lazily, Peter turned, searching for his bed mate. He met air instead, scrambling gracelessly as he fought to keep from tumbling to the floor. Arms flailing, he righted himself, sitting up carefully in the old wooden desk chair and sucking in a couple of deep breaths as his heart rate settled back to something resembling normal.

Damn his subconscious.

One little kiss and he was already picking out china patterns.

He really wanted to hate her, wanted to despise her for everything she'd done, everything she stood for. She'd lied to him. They all had, but he'd come to anticipate it from everyone else. It was Olivia's deception that truly stung. It wasn't even really the lie that bothered him. It was that she'd made him expect more, made him want to stay, want to care and use words like 'family'. She'd restarted his heart only to break it.

He'd embraced his fury when he figured out the truth, feeding it the moment he'd woken up in that hospital, building the flame until it was white hot within his soul, burning all his bridges and leaving him once again alone. Then he had run as far as he could and when it wasn't far enough, he'd jumped, leaving this world, her world, behind. Through the red haze of anger, the choice to leave had been easy, but when the smoke had cleared, all that was left was emptiness and no way back.

Seeing his mother had helped, her tender touch a much-needed balm to his heart, but still, the hole remained. So he'd quickly set to building walls, shoring up his soul with barriers of resentment and righteous indignation, but then he'd heard her voice, _her_ voice from _her_ world, and it had rocked his foundation to the core. Four simple words had finished the job, striking straight though his shields and tying his heart to hers more strongly than ever before.

'_You belong with me.'_

Now she was running, retreating back behind the impassive mask of Special Agent. At least, he assumed that was what she was doing. He hadn't really seen that much of Olivia since she'd dragged him back to the only home he'd ever really known.

Granted, they'd only returned to this universe a little over 24 hours ago, but after the glimpse she'd given him of what really lay beneath that mask, Peter yearned to see more, to make up for lost time and hold on tight to what he was sure was his last second chance. However, after a quick debrief with Broyles, Olivia had rebuffed his attempts to get her alone, pleading exhaustion and disappearing for home as soon as they'd returned to Boston.

Sighing, Peter heaved himself up out of the chair, wincing as his muscles protested the movement after being cramped into the confines of the unforgivingly uncomfortable furniture. The part of him that was still licking the wounds born from Walter and Olivia's deception taunted him with the possibility that this too was a lie, that she'd said whatever he'd needed to hear to get him to return for the greater good, to save the world, but he knew better. She'd meant it. He had felt it in the achingly careful way her lips had moved against his own, like he was a dream and she'd been afraid that one wrong move would wake her up.

No, this was just classic Olivia avoidance. He decided to give her some time. If there was one thing he understood about Olivia Dunham, it was that she didn't share herself lightly and she'd just laid herself bare. Peter was sure she needed a chance to regroup, to regain the control she so desperately clung to and he was willing to give her that time, just not enough time to forget.

The bustle outside the door suddenly increased in volume. Another glass shattered followed by muffled words that sounded suspiciously like, "Don't eat the test tubes."

Concerned, Peter peeked out into the lab and was met with a sight that was both exasperating and strangely comical. Gene had apparently escaped her stall and was making a break for it, but not without sampling some of the lab supplies on the way. Walter was simultaneously trying to rescue glassware and get a grip on the Holstein's halter. The cow was having none of it, however, whipping her head back and sidling away from him every time he got close to getting a grip on the situation.

Chuckling, Peter stepped up to help, coming around the increasingly frantic bovine and herding her back towards her stall. Walter quickly picked up on Peter's plan and joined his son in cutting off the cow's escape route. With nowhere to go, she finally admitted defeat, letting Walter slide his hand through her halter. Slowly and calmly, he led Gene back into her stall and Peter swung the gate shut.

Back in familiar surroundings, the cow decided to show her appreciation, drawing a sloppy tongue across Peter's exposed hand. He couldn't help but recoil at the warm sticky sensation, quickly swiping the back of his fingers over his pants, trying desperately to clean them of cow saliva.

"Gene," Walter admonished. "No licking."

Peter couldn't stem the laugh that had built in his throat. "Looks like Gene was making a bid for greener pastures."

Walter smiled, savouring a rare father-son moment before his shattered mind remembered that Peter was technically not his son and he had no right to be savouring anything. His face fell as the tension that hung between them stretched a little thinner. Fear clouded his eyes as he gazed warily at the younger man.

"I don't know what happened," he stammered, suddenly afraid that he'd angered Peter somehow. "I simply turned away for a moment and … I believe that Gene has learned how to manipulate the locking mechanism and … I'm sorry if we disturbed you and-"

"Walter, stop." Peter dropped a hand to the older man's shoulder, shocked when he flinched away as if he'd been burned.

Walter continued to ramble, quickly becoming incoherent and increasingly distressed. Despite all attempts to preserve his resentment toward the man who'd essentially kidnapped him all those years ago, Peter couldn't stem the wave of sympathy that crowded his chest as he watched a now broken Walter flounder. When Astrid had filled him in on what had really happened 25 years ago, Peter's haze of anger had cleared ever so slightly. It was far from gone, but he couldn't help the tiny spark of gratitude that had lit within him when he realized what Walter had done to save his life, both as a child and now. All was not forgiven, but he wasn't completely adverse to the idea either.

"Hey," Peter whispered firmly, grasping Walter's shoulders and ducking his head to meet the older man's glassy eyes. "Walter, it's okay. I'm not mad."

When he got no immediate response, Peter clasped his erstwhile father's hands tightly within his own. "Walter, snap out of it. I'm not going to leave," he said, again allaying the fear he knew ate at the elder Bishop like a cancer.

The fog slowly cleared and light crept into the grey eyes staring back at him.

"Peter?"

"It's fine, Walter," Peter soothed. "Gene's not going anywhere and neither am I."

Walter nodded repeatedly, pulling his hands free and looking for something to busy himself with. "Thank you, Peter. I'm sorry," he whispered before shuffling over to another corner of the lab.

Peter wiped a hand tiredly across his face. They definitely were all going to need a little more time.


	2. Hearts will never be practical

**Ruby Slippers**

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing related to The Mentalist, just the thoughts in my head.

**Rating**: T(violence and mild swearing)

**Summary**: There's no place like home – a journey both within and without as Peter and Olivia find their way back to each other.

**Spoilers: **Post-ep to Over There 1 & 2

**Author's Notes**: Thank you everyone one for such a positive response to this story. I'm so very pleased to know that you are enjoying it. Sorry this chapter took so long. I did warn you that I was slow. Work and life tends to get in the way sometimes. On the up side, chapter 3 is nearly three quarters done, so you shouldn't have to wait as long for the next one.

Thanks, as always to my fabulous beta, Joy, for putting up with my not so subtle nagging with the grace and kindness of a best friend.

* * *

**Chapter 2 **

_"Hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable"_**  
**

The woman seriously needed to inject some colour into her life.

Agent Olivia Dunham picked through her doppelganger's closet and drawers searching for something comfortable to wear, preferably something that wasn't a shade of grey. Her eyes finally landed on a flash of blue - a soft, almost powder blue sweatshirt. It was a far cry from the bold reds and oranges that characterized her wardrobe, but it would have to do.

Shucking the blazer and white blouse that made up what she'd quickly discovered was her counterpart's uniform, Liv sighed heartily as the soft fleece slid against her skin. This was much better. Discarding her no-nonsense trousers on the bed, she traded them in for a pair of grey yoga pants before making a bee-line to the kitchen, intent on settling her increasingly uneasy stomach with a decent meal.

Espionage had never really been one of her strong suits and now, only two days in, she was already exhausted. It was one thing to pretend to be someone else entirely, but this... she wasn't even sure what to call this mind-warp she was currently living in. In all honesty, the whole thing was freaking her out just a little. She felt like Alice, gone through the looking glass, living a life that had taken a 90 degree turn from everything she knew.

The strangest things were familiar. Sure there were faces she knew; it had taken a concerted effort not to address Agent Broyles as Colonel when he'd instructed to her take a few days to recover and catch up on her paperwork. However, it was little things that haunted her, like the cache of butterscotch candies she'd found, as expected, in the bottom drawer of her desk, e-mail passwords, voices passing in the hallway, the scent of the quilts surrounding her as she slept. She was still trying to wrap her mind around the whole damn mess.

She'd been worried about blowing her cover that first day in the office. Liv was gregarious by nature and she had been concerned that if her twin had a similar work situation, negotiating the ins and outs of their camaraderie would be like navigating a minefield. She was flying solo and she was flying blind, so it had been with some trepidation that she'd walked into the Boston Federal Building yesterday.

The fear had quickly dissipated when she'd realized that it was unlikely her coworkers would notice anything wrong, because it soon became apparent that they were unlikely to notice her at all. This universe's Olivia Dunham was as far as she could tell, a very solitary woman. The distance was almost palpable, a living force field that held her colleagues well beyond arm's length.

While it was a lucky break for someone trying to skate below the radar, Liv had found it unsettling. She wasn't used to having so much time alone in her head, and it made it hard to focus. She had yet to receive her final orders, having been told to simply blend in and perform reconnaissance. It was a relatively simple task, but one that left her with too much time to think. Without the distraction of life or death decisions, it was becoming harder and harder to keep from wondering about the woman who shared her face, whose life she had invaded.

Tipping the contents of a container of soup from the deli down the street into a saucepan she'd placed on the stove, Liv hoped that minestrone in this universe was the same as what she was used to. Absently, she reached into the drawer at her left hip for a spoon, only to stop with a start when her hand didn't come up empty. Eyeing the utensil with a mixture of awe and exasperation, she gave her dinner a distracted stir before turning her attention to her surroundings.

'_Don't be deceived, Olivia. They are monsters in our skin.'_

Taking in the gingham dish towels, decorative candle holders and papers strewn haphazardly over the tiny dining table, Olivia struggled to conjure the image of a monster's lair. Everything was just too normal, too comfortable and lived-in ... but vaguely lonely.

It permeated the apartment now that she'd taken the time to acknowledge it, the underlying shadow of isolation that darkened the room. She tried to chalk it up to her own feelings of distance from Frank, from her mom, but it was more than that. A muted ache settled into her heart as though her double's spirit had taken up residence within its depths, affording a glimpse of the shroud over her world. It was a ridiculous notion and she knew it, but that didn't make it any easier to shake.

This new weight bore down on her in the oppressive silence of the kitchen before she finally had to break the inertia. Striding purposefully into the living room, Liv scanned the tables, shelves, the mantle over the fireplace, anywhere, for evidence of a life outside this room, for a reason for how two versions of an image could be so vastly different. They were like two sides of the same coin. Sure, her life back home was filled with danger and stress, but it was also filled with friends, lovers and family. This Olivia seemed to only have one half of the equation. With anyone else, it would be easy to dismiss as poor coping skills or a pathetic martyr complex, but...

'_You gotta trust me; I'm you.'_

Despite the Secretary's caution, Liv was starting to believe her twin's desperate assertion. The whisper of connection that had teased her mind back in her apartment was coming at her much stronger now and she needed to understand, needed to know where the paths had diverged.

Her well-trained eyes lit on a box tucked behind some books to the left of the fireplace. Settling herself on the edge of a nearby chair, she pulled the container from its hiding place. Her lips quirked into a hint of a smile as she carefully lifted off the faded and tattered lid, unearthing a veritable treasure trove in her archaeological dig into this Olivia Dunham's past. She knew that there would be a box like this one, like the one she kept on the top shelf of her linen closet. Few would ever accuse her of being overly sentimental, but she did keep a store of birthday cards, notices, letters and other reminders that there were people out there who cared about her.

However, the cache she'd just uncovered was nothing like what she kept at home. Sure, there were letters and cards and newspaper clippings, but closer inspection revealed that they were not celebrations of love, but mostly records of loss and hardship, a grim accounting of a life where the rain just refused to let up.

She did find some bright spots, holding back a surprised laugh when she pulled out an image of a young woman in dress whites that was almost identical to one she had in her own collection. But the cards and keepsakes were outnumbered by obituaries and newspaper clippings chronicling yet another person ripped from her life. Faces she knew, like Charlie and her mother, and faces she could only speculate about smiled up at her from funeral programs. Understanding crept its way through her brain as she realized that it must have been easier for her counterpart to close herself off than rather than deal with the heartache of losing someone else.

'_Who do you have left?'_ she mused, thumbing through the pages.

As if in answer to her thoughts, the phone rang, its shrill tone slicing through the heavy silence, kicking her heart into overdrive. Sitting stock still, Olivia held her breath until she felt ridiculous, knowing that the person on the other end of the line had no idea she was there. Finally her mechanical double finished instructing the caller to leave a message and a tiny and impossibly adorable voice dragged the breath right out of her.

"Hi, Aunt Liv!" she chirped, and Olivia's heart clenched painfully as she realized that she was hearing a ghost, the reflection of the niece she'd never had the chance to meet. She didn't really register the words, letting the cheerful cadence of the child's voice wash over her, filling the hole that had been left in her heart when her sister had succumbed to complications seven years ago, taking her baby with her.

Liv almost jumped for the phone when she realized that the little girl was winding down, suddenly desperate to maintain the connection. However, her training finally kicked in, steeling her heart and checking the knee-jerk reaction.

With a "'Kay, bye!" the call clicked off and the apartment was once again plunged into stillness.

Refocusing on the box in her lap, Liv couldn't help the tiny bubble of relief knowing that this Olivia wasn't completely isolated. She sobered quickly, however, remembering that her double was no longer in this world and was likely discovering well and truly what it was like to be alone.

That thought bothered her more than it should. It wasn't the first time she'd been responsible for capturing and imprisoning terrorists. If the Secretary was right, that was indeed what her double was, a monster bent on destroying their world. Still, thumbing through the photographs of lives and loves lost, Liv was having a hard time believing the Olivia who had collected these mementos was nothing more than a woman trying to hold onto the one of the only things she had left.

"_I need to speak to Peter Bishop."_

Her desperation had been palpable, and the ferocity with which she'd fought had belied her need to find this one man. Hell, she'd crossed _universes_ to track him down which was not usually a terrorist's goal. Sure, the rift they'd caused had nearly obliterated a large portion of the lower East Side, but Liv didn't get the impression that destruction was the intended outcome.

"_He's in danger here and he needs to understand that."_

No, it had been a rescue mission, and a backwards one at that. As far as she was concerned, Peter Bishop had been finally rescued after over twenty years. Still, they'd come to take him back, claiming a threat to his life. It made no sense. The prodigal son was finally home, what could possibly be a threat to him now? It would be easy to write off the fear in her counterpart's eyes as pure delusion, but he'd followed her back to this world seemingly with no argument and appeared intent on staying on the wrong side.

She was going to be seriously pissed if this whole mess had been caused by a lovers' quarrel.

Still, she got the sense that it was both not quite and so much more than that. Unwanted tendrils of doubt snaked their way up her spine, lodging in her brain, and uprooting the certainty that had guided her so far. Shaking her head angrily, Olivia dropped the box to the floor and pushed herself up from the chair. The room wasn't really big enough for proper pacing, but she gave it her best shot. Having all this time to _think_ was driving her crazy. She did not need to be questioning the motivation of her enemy. She was trained to receive and carry out orders for the benefit of her country and, she supposed now, her universe and she did it well. Now was most definitely not the time to be changing her MO.

The phone rang again, stilling her feet and focussing her awareness, narrowing it to a fine point as she waited for the caller to reveal themselves.

"'Livia, it's me."

Although she had only a cursory experience with the voice, she recognized it immediately. She sucked in her breath unconsciously and held it, curiosity bubbling irrepressibly just below the surface as she waited for his next words.

A sigh rushed through the tinny connection, followed by, "I'm going to assume you're not home and not simply ignoring my calls again."

The length of the pause that followed made her wonder if he'd disconnected the call, then, "Look, I know that 'weird' doesn't even really begin to describe the way things have been since Jacksonville, but I want to you to remember one thing ... I came back. It's a lot to process, I know. How do you think I've been feeling? I mean you knew and you didn't-"

His words trickled away, like his lungs had suddenly cut off his air supply, choking off the rest of the thought. Still holding her breath and stretching her hearing to the edges of its reach, Olivia caught the rasp of a steadying breath hidden within the white noise of the answering machine before Peter managed to push past the wall in his throat.

"Anyway, I came back for a reason and we really need to talk. So, uh, just call me, 'kay?"

His voice trailed off into a rushed jumble of unintelligible words before the message ended with a click that resounded in the pregnant quiet of the room.

Blowing out a string of choice curses under her breath, Olivia dropped heavily to the couch, running her hand through her hair as though she could brush away the tangles of this other woman's life in the middle of which she'd just found herself.

"Damnit."

Her heart actually _hurt_. Between her twin's desperate plea, Dr. Bell's sacrifice for whom she assumed had been an old friend and now that damned love letter of a message, she was actually starting to care about these people. The knowledge that one of the people in question was currently locked away never to see the light of day was gnawing at her gut, making her insides roil. This was not supposed to happen. Her mind whirled, desperately wanting to know the whole story, to figure out where in this mess she was supposed to fit.

Meanwhile, the purely practical half of her brain was frozen in dread because there was no way in _hell_ she was going to convince Peter Bishop that she was the Olivia Dunham he knew and seemingly loved. Her cover would be blown the minute he got her alone and she wasn't sure how much longer she could hold him off.

She needed guidance. She needed her orders so she could complete her mission and get the hell out of here. She had an entire universe to protect. She was on the right side of this... she had to be.

* * *

Peter's thumb hovered over the number one button of his cell phone. He'd already tried Olivia's cell, but after striking out again on her home line, he was tempted to keep alternating between the two phones until she finally had to pick up out of exasperation.

It wouldn't be the first time he'd attempted to use her temper as the valve to finally release all that was pent up inside of her: fear, frustration, uncertainty. Olivia Dunham didn't share, at least not without a significant amount of prodding, but this avoidance was becoming a little ridiculous. It had shades of their relationship after they'd returned from Jacksonville and she had been shouldering the incredible burden of his true origins. Peter realized now, with an inkling of dread, that at the time she had likely been terrified that too much time in his presence would wear down her walls and the truth would slip free.

'_Is there some other earth-shattering revelation she's neglected to tell me?'_

He was being paranoid and he knew it. Peter could understand her wariness. Neither of them were exactly the poster child for stable relationship material and the last person she'd trusted with her heart had run roughshod over her life both before and after his death. While Peter would admit that he and Olivia had been growing closer this past year, the last few weeks had stepped up the timetable dramatically. Considering the Gordian knot of emotions and rationalizations that was his psyche at the moment, Peter could imagine what Olivia was going through.

For the last seventy-four hours, there had been a constant clash between anger, resentment, relief and gratitude, all roiling within his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He was still a long way from sorting it all out and accepting that family didn't always have anything to do with genetics or, in this case, physics.

Walter was being excruciatingly careful around him, keeping his experiments to a minimum, baking cookies and making taffy, instead. Despite the overriding air of domesticity pervading the house these last few days, Peter couldn't help but notice that his would-be father's spine was strung tighter than a piano wire. Walter was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for Peter to disappear again. It was a fear, Peter realized now with some small hint of remorse, that had been Walter's constant companion for the last 25 years.

A year ago, he would have left anyway, guilt or responsibilities be damned. A year ago, he would have disappeared to some Middle Eastern country and picked up his life where Olivia had so rudely interrupted it. Now, however, the idea of running held no appeal. He'd already tried it and look where it had gotten him, about to become cannon fodder in a war he still didn't completely understand.

No, he wanted to stay, and not just because Olivia had given him hope of something beyond the burgeoning friendship he'd come to cherish before this whole mess had cracked open, spilling out over their lives like an oil slick. He wanted to stay because of Walter, and Astrid and even that damned cow his father was so fond of. The betrayal of his own blood had only crystallized his notion that this group of people, this family they'd become, was worth the effort.

A small explosion from the kitchen rattled the ancient light fixtures in the den where he'd taken refuge. A rather creative invective from Walter followed, and Peter couldn't help the tiny smile that tugged on his lips. Some days it took a lot of effort.

He hazarded another glance at his cell phone, hoping beyond hope that he'd find a notice of a missed call, something, anything to let him know that she was just as invested in this as he was. The phone merely lay idle on the couch, prompting a long breath of frustration from its owner.

God, he missed her, had from the moment he'd walked out the front door of the hospital, knowing he was never looking back. He'd wanted nothing more than to leave, to put as much distance between himself and the life he thought he'd known as possible. Still, the ache for her had followed, settling like a splinter in his heart, throbbing with every beat, every step he took further away from her. He'd tried to ignore it, to bury it under the rage and resentment that boiled up from his gut, but in the quieter moments it would flare up into a bright flash of pain that couldn't be denied.

Now, with both of them back in the same city ... back in the same universe, all Peter wanted was to ease the sting, to sooth himself with her quiet calm and wrap himself in her strength. He wanted to understand and ultimately forgive. He wanted to slip back into their routine. He wanted to seek out refuge from the chaos and uncertainty that was Walter in the steady peace that came from her presence beside him.

Eyes once again drifting to his traitorous phone, a decision coalesced within in him. Heaving himself off the couch, he snatched up the device and made for the front door. Snagging his coat and calling a quick "I'm going out," to Walter and Astrid, Peter jogged down the steps, intent on his destination.

He was done giving her time.

* * *

She was nearly there.

Tendrils of awareness rippled out from the swirling mass of her consciousness like eddies in a stream, rushing down corridors, filtering through concrete and glass, warm objects and cold, before echoing back to their origins. Each returning wave danced along her skin, contracting follicles and setting hairs on end, splitting the currents into tiny rivulets that raced along neurons, firing images on the blank screen of her eyelids.

She'd lost track of time ages ago, but she had noticed that they'd left her in the dark for longer than usual since her ninth visit to the grey room. Each trip had increased in length and intensity. By this last outing, Olivia had figured the techs had cranked the horror factor up to eleven, bombarding her with an endless tableaux of pain and turmoil as they still tried to break her, attempting to unlock secrets she herself was only beginning to wrap her head around.

The cool blackness of her cell was a relief to the hot ache that wracked her body. It soothed the damage and allowed her to re-centre as she sat cross-legged on the unforgiving tile floor. She'd started this ritual after her second bout in the chair, taking advantage of the drugs bathing her cells to hone strengths she only barely knew she had, let alone understood how to wield. Still, she had to try.

The intervals between trials were also getting longer and Olivia wondered absently if they were giving up on her, having been unable to wrench any useful information from the iron grip of her mind. She actually hoped they'd forget about her entirely. She was nearly there and just needed a little more time...

Shifting her attention from the mental map she'd pieced together, Olivia focussed her sights inward. Reaching deep into the darkness of her soul, she stoked the embers of anger which had burned in her gut for as long as she could remember.

Most days she managed to temper the flame, dampen the glow as each new hurt added fuel to the fire. Most days she could direct the heat, forging tools that had become valuable assets to her job. Today, however, she merely fanned the blaze, coaxing it into a raging inferno that licked out from her core, consuming everything in its path.

Releasing the reins, she embraced the fury, revelling in the heat that coursed through her veins, lighting up every nerve ending, filling her with a heady power that was both enticingly novel and strangely familiar.

The seeds of her anger ghosted across her mind, flitting behind her eyelids before she tore them down and added them to the pyre: her stepfather who'd ripped away any sense of parental security before she'd torn off his knee-cap with a bullet; a vague collection of friends in high school and college who'd never really understood; her mother who just hadn't been strong enough; her sister, who just couldn't say no; Broyles, who had dragged her into this nightmare; Walter who had created it; John, who'd eroded most of the trust she'd so carefully built; Charlie, who's body snatcher had wiped away the rest and Peter... The flame burned brighter. Peter had made her want to believe again, made her want to love again, had promised to be there, but she should've known that no one ever kept their promises.

The fury was white hot now, the cells in her body practically dancing within their membranes, the glow that arced across her skin beating back the darkness. Oxygen drained out of the air around her, drawn inexorably to the fire that blazed within her core, building up an almost unbearable pressure behind the cage of her ribs. She could see the event horizon; all she needed was a catalyst.

Footsteps echoed in the tiny corner of her mind still dedicated to perception, thudding softly behind her tympanum, a subtle, but crucial counterpoint to the frantic beating of her heart. Having finally reached critical mass, all Olivia could do was wait.

Three.

Her heart and lungs stopped and held, aching for release.

Two.

Eyes opened, irises a beacon in the darkness.

One.

The doorknob turned and the world went white.


	3. We're off the see the Wizard

**Ruby Slippers**

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing related to Fringe, just the thoughts in my head.

**Rating**: T (violence and mild swearing)

**Summary**: There's no place like home – a journey both within and without as Peter and Olivia find their way back to each other.

**Spoilers: **Post-ep to Over There 1 & 2

**Author's Notes**: Thanks again for your continuing support of this story. Your words of encouragement definitely help keep the momentum going. These are challenging characters and it's been a long time since I've tackled anything so long and complex. I'm actually a little nervous about this chapter. Brace yourself. It truly lives up to its T rating and we have some dark moments to get through before we can come out the other side.

Chapter 4 is giving me some trouble, but I'll try and get it finished as fast as possible. The premier is fast approaching.

Thanks, as always to my fabulous beta, Joy, for making me laugh, fighting off the invasion of random commas and asking the tough questions that make me strive to improve my writing.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

"_We're off to see the wizard..."_

The alarms were excruciating, shrill needles of sound that scratched at her ears and tore at her concentration. By the time she'd returned to herself, Olivia was already running, rounding another bend in an endless maze of corridors. The door to her cell, singed and dangling uselessly from its hinges, hid the charred and barely recognizable remains of the unfortunate tech who had come to prep her for their next session. Opening the door had burst the bubble, sending the inferno raging within spilling out into the hallway, crashing like a tidal wave over whatever, or whoever, stood in its way. All that remained of the room was an Olivia-shaped void of pristine white wall, surrounded by blackened and blistered tiles.

Cramped from lack of use and the cocktail of chemicals perfusing her cells, Olivia's muscles screamed in protest as her bare feet pounded against the unyielding linoleum. Still, she pushed herself forward as fast as possible. The element of surprise was already long gone and her head start would soon be non-existent.

Careening around one more corner, Olivia came to an abrupt halt at the sight before her, slamming her hand against the cinderblock wall to stop her forward momentum. She'd found the door, but as expected, it was locked, the fingerprint recognition pad glowing like a beacon in the dim light of the eerily empty corridor.

'_They should've found me by now.' _

The thought made her stomach roll as she frantically tried to figure out her captor's next move. What was taking them so long? She'd been prepared to fight from the moment she had burst through the door and the delay couldn't help but leave her wondering if guards were the least of her worries. Then, stretching herself beyond her normal limits, she heard them, heavy, booted footfalls rumbling down the stairs behind the door. The sound was comforting in a twisted sort of way; guards she could handle.

Eyeing the camera mounted in the corner of the last bend, Olivia conceded that an ambush wasn't going to be an option. She was going to have to meet them head-on. Steeling herself and wishing she was still wearing her boots, Olivia held her breath, waiting for yet another portal to open.

She started running the second the heavy door swung inward, revealing the first of three armed agents. Olivia was bearing down on them before they could even sweep their gaze over the room. As they cleared the entryway, she collided solidly with the first over the threshold, catching him around his mid-section in a classic football tackle. As they tumbled sideways to the ground, Olivia made a grab for his rifle, wrenching the weapon from his shock-slackened grip.

She'd killed the second agent before they hit the ground, a clean shot to the throat. His colleague's fate was messier. The impact of the floor jostled her arm and the second bullet zinged through her assailant's leg, drawing a sharp cry from beneath the helmet and sending the man reeling away from the scuffle on the floor.

Having recovered from the tackle, the first agent flung Olivia off, sending her unprotected back into the concrete wall and jarring the rifle from her hands. Stars exploded behind her eyes as she struggled to draw a breath and ascertain where her attacker was. A cross cut to her jaw sent her sprawling to the floor before her vision had managed to clear. Rolling instinctively onto her back, Liv swung out her leg, catching the agent square in the groin. Taking full advantage of her lucky strike, she heaved herself up into a crouching position and yanked the rifle back before spinning it in her hands and thrusting the butt hard into the man's solar plexus. A second vicious blow across the temple sent him to the ground, unconscious. Clutching her weapon tightly, Olivia pushed off from the linoleum anxious to get going when a harsh "Freeze!" made her do just that.

Dropping back to the ground, she gazed up over another rifle barrel into the pained eyes of what she figured to be a rookie. The fear behind the forced steely gaze was unmistakable.

"Drop your weapon!"

The voice cracked and the agent swayed on his injured leg.

She hesitated. One quick move and she could dispatch him with a bullet to the brain, but she just couldn't seem to bring herself to do it.

"Drop it!"

The voice was getting more frantic and backup could be heard closing in. He was either going to kill her with an accidental pull of the trigger, or reinforcements would, at the very least, drag her back to another cell. None were particularly attractive options, and Olivia's mind searched desperately for an alternative. Suddenly a plan coalesced, and she did as she was told, holding out her hands in surrender.

It didn't take much to draw up the fire again. Closing her eyes for a moment, Olivia stirred the cauldron that roiled within, focussing the intense heat into the palms of her hands. Looking back up at the agent, she could see that the mask had crumbled, terror front and centre in his young eyes.

"On your knees!"

She complied only for a moment before rising up on her haunches and fixing her gaze with his. He backed up unconsciously, thrusting the gun forward.

"I said on your knees!"

Olivia kept coming, the soft blue glow dancing at her fingertips barely discernable even in the low light of the corridor. Then, like a cobra, she struck, shooting up from the ground, reaching out and laying her hands on the agent's face, the only unprotected part of his body. The shock nearly sent her backwards, but she held on, feeling the sickening sensation of skin sizzling under her touch. The young man shrieked in pain and tumbled away, staggering blindly for a moment before fainting from the shock. Her body still coursing with energy, Olivia forced herself to regroup and placed her still glowing hand on the fingerprint recognition pad. The tablet flashed blindingly for a moment before sparks shot out from the locking mechanism of the door, popping open her means of escape. Stepping over the threshold, she was met with the first step in a series that seemed to go on forever, zigzagging up into the shadows. There was only one way to go. Carefully ignoring the carnage she'd just wrought, Olivia took a deep breath and started up the stairs.

Hot air gushing past her lips in rough pants, Olivia pushed herself up flight after flight, fighting fiercely to stay focussed on her goal. The wake of her outburst left her weary, synapses firing uncontrollably as she came down from the immense high. The haze it left in her mind made it hard to concentrate. She kept slipping back to the corridor, the smell of burnt flesh and the sound of horrified screams twisting the knot of nausea and guilt that sat heavily in her stomach. Now was not the time for remorse, she ruthlessly reminded herself, willing her body and mind into submission as her feet slapped against the steps. It was truly survival of the fittest and hesitation was deadly... she'd have to deal with the costs later.

Finally, she reached the top, bursting through the doors without forethought then pinning herself flat against the outside wall in anticipation of snipers. The sirens sounded different outside, a droning wail in the salty, fog-laden air instead of the strident ringing of inside the compound.

Heaving a deep sigh, Liv scanned the area. She was sheltered by the main building, safe for the moment pressed into the shadows of the pale white walls. Searchlights passed relentlessly over the damp ground ahead of her, their brilliant beams cutting through the heavy darkness like giant light sabres. Taking a few steps forward and glancing up behind her, beyond the first storey of limestone, her heart sank as she caught sight of unmistakable sandaled feet and folds of a copper robe rising up into the night.

She just had to be on an island.

Panic bubbled up like bile in her throat and Olivia swallowed determinedly, calling up images of her sister, her niece and Peter. Surrender was not an option. There _had_ to be a way out. The footsteps rumbling up the stairwell behind the door and pounding over the wet pavement off to her right were almost on top of her, shouts of 'Stop!' adding to the din. As soon as the latest shaft of light passed, Olivia dashed out into the darkness, making a beeline for a copse of trees, hoping to buy some time until she could figure out her next move.

The fresh fragrance of wet leaves was a welcome relief after the stale air of her cell. Sucking great gulps of oxygen into her lungs, she fought to subdue the tremors that still wracked her body. Her newfound skills, while useful, were taking their toll, draining her already compromised reserves. The shivering was constant now, tiny ripples of energy along her skin, a live wire waiting to make a connection. Olivia flattened herself as tightly as she could against the thick trunk of a towering linden, listening intently through the clamour of the sirens and gathering wind for the shouts of the agents searching for her.

They were getting closer.

Icy fingers of dread closed over her heart, sending her pulse skyrocketing as her mind plagued her with memories of the dark, the cold and the grey room. She couldn't go back. She _wouldn't_ go back.

But how the hell was she supposed to go forward?

With a herculean effort, she corralled her racing thoughts, forcing the terror that had been clawing at her soul back into its dark place in the pit of her stomach. She needed to focus.

She needed to _think_.

Peering through the gloom before her, Olivia stretched her senses, ripples slipping around the densely-packed tree trunks until she reached the shore. Inky waves lapped rhythmically against the hull of a supply ship docked just outside the tree line. Anticipation crested, a warm breaker washing back the fear and filling her again with purpose. The goal was clear now. It was a long shot, but it was the only option.

Pushing off from her shelter, Olivia stumbled ahead into the darkness, limbs heavy, but heart resolute. Rocks and thorns dug into her unprotected feet, drawing blood, but she'd long since stopped noticing the pain. Forcing her way through a dense tangle, she dragged her hair out of her eyes and surveyed her progress. The starless sky opened up ahead of her, trees giving way into a small clearing in the middle of the woodlot.

The dull rumble of heavy footfalls was getting closer, the crackling of branches betraying their attempt at a silent approach.

Suddenly, a tiny, red beam pierced the blackness, slicing through the air just inches from her left ear. The laser sight of an assault rifle, it was quickly joined by others cutting angles through the shadows on all sides of her. There was only one way out and she wasn't sure she'd survive it.

Moving to the centre of the clearing, Olivia crouched low, readying herself for the inevitable.

The dam already breached, fury flowed easily now, fuelled by shear frustration and pain. She just couldn't seem to catch a break. She raged against the helplessness they'd reduced her to, against the fear they'd nurtured within her, the monsters they'd dragged out from under her bed, and the depths she'd been forced to achieve. Eyes narrowed, she conjured up Walternate's image, drawing on his smug smirk for inspiration, stoking the fire ever higher.

Then, another emotion slipped unexpectedly through the maelstrom into the eye of the storm. Walternate's stony countenance was supplanted by Peter, his boyish smile shining against the dark canvas of the night. Love flared brightly within her core, love and determination, pushing her energy levels beyond anything she'd felt before. Her body hummed, neurons firing like dry lightning in a summer storm. Her head throbbed, and every atom of her body vibrated with latent power.

'_There are more atoms in the human body than there are stars in the sky.'_

She was going to come apart, a supernova of uncontrolled emotions.

Ruthlessly, she yanked back on the reins, tempering the storm, dialling things down and fervently hoping she could control the blast. She'd come too far for it to end in a veritable blaze of glory.

They were upon her now, shouts registering dimly through the roaring in her ears, lasers bouncing in front of her like menacing fireflies. A muzzle flash lit up the night for a fraction of a second and Olivia turned to face the bullet as it grazed her shoulder, the pain lost in the tempest of sensation that clamoured for release.

She was out of time.

The shockwave rattled Lady Liberty's torch, a crushing white wave searing away the darkness, cutting down everything within range.

The clearing, now double in size, smouldered silently, pockets of flames casting an orange glow over the dimness. Raising her head slowly, Olivia surveyed the damage.

Nothing moved.

For a moment, stillness reigned; even the sirens seemed to quiet in deference to the scale of the devastation. Blinking myopically, trying to clear the fuzzy spots from her vision, Olivia sat cross-legged at ground zero, working to gather herself together. Guilt and pain threatened to crush her where she sat, but she needed to shake it off, needed to keep going, needed to _move_ ... now.

Stumbling weakly to her feet, she picked her way through the smoking remains of trees and men, disappearing once again into the darkness.

The shore was in sight, the dock light cutting through the mist and illuminating the small ship rocking invitingly in its berth. Crouched on the edge of the forest, Olivia weighed her options, scanning the vessel for points of weakness.

Suddenly a familiar click sounded behind her right ear. Rocking back on her heels, Olivia met the hard press of a muzzle against her temple.

Everything stopped.

"Freeze, bitch."

Olivia sucked in a painful breath as she recognized the voice.

"Charlie?" she whispered, taking care not to move.

The unyielding metal dug deeper into her skin.

"I don't know who or _what_ you are, but you sure as hell ain't Livvy and you sure as hell don't know me."

He all but spat the words into her ear, but the edge of uncertainly in his voice was the opening she needed. She remembered that feeling all too well. Taking a calculated risk, Olivia eased forward, separating herself from the gun, and turned around slowly, hands in the air.

The trigger remained unmoved.

"No, I'm not your Liv, but I was Charlie's partner once." She hesitated, trying to figure out how to make him understand something that had taken her months to wrap her head around.

"Waltern... the Secretary took him away from me, replaced him with this _thing_ that had left me no choice-" Olivia's voice was barely above a whisper as the last of her reserves seeped from her body. "I had to put a bullet in my best friend's head, knowing he'd already been dead for weeks."

In the muted light from the dock filtering through the canopy, his face was impenetrable. The gun never wavered. Still, he'd made no move to stop her yet. Pushing her luck, she continued.

"I don't want that for you, Charlie, and I don't want to hurt you." Faint flashes of blue rippled along her fingertips, an absolute last resort. "I didn't want to hurt anyone. I just want to go home."

The last few words escaped in a rush, pouring out of her along with the rest of her strength. She'd run out of ideas, had no more contingency plans and with her own body reaching the end of its rope, the suffocating blanket of resignation wrapped around her, blotting out anything else.

Then his voice broke through the fog.

"Why are you even here?"

Olivia nearly laughed at his question, a million different answers boiling down into one simple reason.

"To rescue Peter Bishop." Because saving a world without him in it would've been pointless.

His laugh was a humourless bark, quickly lost in the rustling of leaves overhead as the wind picked up off the bay. "You've got it backwards, lady. It's your side that Peter Bishop needs rescuing from."

He was getting impatient; she could see it in his stance. It was a look both familiar and foreign and her heart ached with all that she'd lost in the last few years. Darting her gaze to the muzzle of the gun for a moment, she then glanced up and snagged his eyes, her own wild with desperation. She had one last chance.

"Look, Charlie, we don't have much time. You need to understand that your boss is not a good man. As long as he's around, neither Peter, nor my world, is safe. I don't think any of us are safe. Our side ... we don't want this war and the only way to stop it is if you let me go back. I know you think I'm lying, that I'm a terrorist just trying to save my own skin. I'm sorry for everything-" Tears lodged in her throat, cutting off her words as she tried to convey the shame she felt for what she'd done to survive thus far. Swallowing painfully, Olivia forced the rest of her entreaty through her lips. "I know it's a lot to take in: alternate universes, shape-shifters, what I can ... do, another you, another me. I know you're feeling obsolete, but you're not ... you're _not_. You could never be obsolete, Charlie, you've always had good instincts. You could always read people."

Sucking in a breath and taking a tentative step backwards, swaying dangerously on her feet, Olivia continued, "I need you to read me now, Charlie. I need you to see that I'm telling the truth. I need your help ... _please_."

Heart pounding viciously in her ears, Olivia held her breath, watching her words sink in, hoping beyond hope that this time she would get through. Cutting her eyes back to the gun still pointed at her, she let herself dare to hope when she saw the muzzle waiver.

Then it went off.

* * *

His eyes traced the serifs of the brass letter 'A' for the sixth time as he tried to will his knuckles into finally making contact with the wood.

All of the resolve and hope that had propelled him forward as he'd taken the streets of Boston at an alarming speed had seeped out of him once he'd made it to her door. Peter felt pathetic. He hadn't been to Olivia's place all that often, but he had never felt uncomfortable there before. She'd risked her life crossing universes to save him. That alone should be a pretty good indication that he would be welcome in her home.

After all, she had him on speed-dial.

Swaying closer to the door, Peter caught a hint of vanilla drifting up from within the apartment. For one sweet instant, he was swept back into that heady moment in the condo his father had set up for him. Even dressed in another's clothes and her hair freshly coloured, Peter had still been able to detect the scent he'd long ago associated with Olivia. For the first time since he'd come home, he had felt safe and normal, the warmth of her body anchoring him after feeling adrift for as long as he could remember.

With only a few hours before they'd had to rendezvous at the opera house, their time together had been short, punctuated by apologies, brief tears and even briefer kisses. The uncomfortable swelling of his heart within his chest when she'd informed him that Walter had come with her had been a surprise to Peter. He'd thought the anger that he had felt for the man who had posed as his father for most of his life was immutable. He'd sworn that he'd never forgive the man for stealing him away from the life he'd been supposed to live. Still, as he marvelled at the lengths Walter and Olivia had gone to find him, Peter couldn't help but wonder if maybe he'd been living in the right universe after all.

Now, standing outside Olivia Dunham's apartment, Peter figured it was time he grew a set and owned his choices. He'd chosen his side and now it was time to move forward. Sucking in a deep breath, he finally knocked, the three sharp raps startling in the dry, still air of the corridor.

There was no answer.

Just his luck, all the angst and soul-searching and she wasn't even home.

His shoulders sagged with a mixture of relief and disappointment. Blowing out a thin stream of air through pursed lips, he took a step back, reluctant to break the tenuous connection and walk away. Then he heard it, soft footfalls just inside the door. He glanced up just as a shadow passed across the peep-hole.

Leaning back towards his goal, Peter called her bluff. "C'mon, 'Livia. I know you're in there. You can't keep avoiding me forever."

After a beat, the click of a latch sliding out of its housing set his heart racing.

The door swung open, revealing a sight that was becoming all too familiar. Obviously tired, Olivia eyed him warily, body strung tight despite the fatigue dragging her down. Pulling out the big guns, he flashed her his most charming grin.

"What? You'll cross universes to save my life, but you won't let me into your apartment?"

He watched her carefully; the armour was back and his heart sank. Just as he had feared, he'd left her too long and she'd rebuilt her walls even stronger than before. Frustration and sadness warred within him and he forced them both back down into their cages. He needed to tread carefully.

Holding his breath, Peter waited, rocking almost imperceptibly on the balls of his feet until a smile tugged at her lips while something indefinable passed behind her eyes and she took a step back, sweeping her arm out in a universal gesture.

"Come on in."

* * *

Olivia fought back another bout of nausea as the boat crested yet one more wave. Rolling backwards with the momentum, the sharp sting of her injured shoulder being crushed against the metal siding provided a distraction from the queasiness within her stomach.

She still couldn't quite believe that she was alive.

She'd been sure that the muzzle flash of Charlie's gun would be the last thing she ever saw, an ironic reversal of roles from where she'd found herself several months earlier. However, the impact never came. Instead the bullet disappeared over her head, plunging them deeper into darkness. A glance over her shoulder confirmed her suspicions; the main dock light had been dispatched.

An overwhelming tide of gratitude and pain had roiled within her, threatening to swell her chest to bursting. Turning back to the face she'd once known as well as her own, Olivia hadn't been able to keep the tears out of her eyes as the ramifications of what he'd just done became clear.

There were apparently some universal constants and Charlie Francis always had her back.

Her 'thank you' had lodged behind a painful lump in her throat and he was already moving before she had been able to form the words. With a firm hand, Charlie directed her to sit, muttering a rueful, "You damn well better be right about this," before disappearing into the darkness.

From behind a veil of foliage Olivia had watched as Charlie intercepted the approaching agents and the crew from the supply ship, leading them off on a proverbial wild goose chase. She'd taken advantage of the diversion to ensconce herself in the emergency supplies compartment at the vessel's stern where she currently resided.

The silence had seemed endless, cramped in the tiny space. Her heart had pounded in her ears, pumping the blood relentlessly through arteries and veins, the graze in her left shoulder throbbing in time with the persistent beat. Every second had held on a pause expecting to be discovered, hoping the ship would pull away from the dock.

Finally, approaching footsteps had set her teeth on edge, every fibre in her body taut and ready to fight, heat gathering almost unwillingly along her fingers. Then, a familiar voice had washed over her through the thick metal lid. Charlie's raspy "You're all clear; proceed as scheduled," had released all the tension in her body, drawing tears of relief from her tired eyes. Soon after, the engines had rumbled to life and hope dared to spark within her heart.

Now, all she could do was wait, wedged in between coils of rope, buoys, PFDs and safety blankets, as the ship chugged its way through the bay, headed hopefully for lower Manhattan.

Darkness crowded in on her again, the stale air stubbornly refusing to fill her lungs, punishing her for the depths she'd sunken to in her desperate bid for freedom. She'd been single-minded, ruthless, and very nearly out of control. She'd been reduced to instinct, intent on the single goal of survival. For a moment, she recalled the shape-shifters and their stop-at-nothing tactics and it sickened her.

She was no better.

Shuddering quietly in the storage locker, Olivia despaired over what she'd let herself become over the last few hours. She was adrift in the storm, letting herself be swept along with the unrelenting tide she'd released when she had first drawn of the fire within her. Desperately, she cast about for an anchor, a stabilizing force to help her balance the chaos threatening to consume her from within.

''_Livia, if you need me, I'm here.'_

Peter's words from so long ago became a beacon cutting through the blackness that enveloped her soul, easing the pain and settling the seas just a little. Eyes closed against the dark, Olivia conjured up his presence, his warm breath ghosting over her lips, strong arms soothing the tremors that continued to wrack her spent body.

'_You belong with me.'_

As clichéd as it sounded, it was the truth, one Olivia had had driven painfully home when she'd discovered that Peter had chosen to leave her behind. After the disaster that was John, Olivia had never expected anyone to find their way into her heart again, at least not so quickly. However, Peter had slipped in when she wasn't looking, quietly holding her steady when her world was literally turned inside out with the discovery of Cortexiphan, alternate universes and shape-shifters.

It would be easy to dismiss their connection as a result of shared trauma and latent attraction, but Olivia had known for a long time that it went much deeper than that.

'_This isn't just an assignment, is it?'_

Even her double had seen it. Peter may have started out as a means to an end, but over the last year he'd somehow become her centre, and losing him had torn apart the heart she'd only just managed to rebuild.

It frightened her, this need for him. She'd always prided herself on her independence, had never required a man to define her and she sure as hell didn't want to start now. With Peter, though, it wasn't about who she was when she was with him, but what they could be together. She'd never wanted anything more than to discover that potential. She'd dared to hope when his arm had snaked around her waist, pulling her tightly to his body as his lips had slid solidly against her own. For one brilliant moment, she'd believed that they would be okay. Then it had all gone to hell... again.

She had to find her way home.

There had been no sounds to indicate any movement on the deck for quite some time. Sucking in a steadying breath, Olivia carefully lifted the lid of her hiding place and chanced a glance outside. The World Trade Center's twin towers dominated the skyline, looming like parapets over the fortress of Manhatan. That tiny flicker of hope burned just a little bit brighter. There was only one person who could help her now.


	4. Are you a good witch or a bad witch

**Ruby Slippers**

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing related to Fringe, just the thoughts in my head.

**Rating**: T (violence and mild swearing)

**Summary**: There's no place like home – a journey both within and without as Peter and Olivia find their way back to each other.

**Spoilers: **Post-ep to Over There 1 & 2

**Author's Notes**: Well, it took longer than I'd hoped, but I managed to hammer out chapter 4. Thanks again for your continuing support of this story. Your reviews and comments go a long way to keeping me writing. I apologize if I didn't respond personally to your review this time. Work has kept me so busy I haven't really been able to take the time to thank all of you personally. Just know it's greatly appreciated. I'm well into chapter 5, but I doubt I'll finish it before the premier. Here's hoping it doesn't derail my train of thought.

Thanks, as always to my fabulous beta, Joy, for pushing me to be better with every new sentence and for always being there when I need her, in writing and in life.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

_"Are you a good witch or a bad witch?"_**  
**

Peter had never seen Olivia Dunham quite this jumpy before. They stood in a silent standoff in her living room, eyeing each other warily over the couch. He would've laughed if the whole situation didn't feel so pathetic.

One step forward...

Needing to break the stalemate, Peter finally spoke.

"Aren't you going to offer me a drink?"

Olivia didn't quite suppress the start at his question before seeming to force herself to relax.

"Um, sure, what do you want?"

Peter smiled encouragingly. They were apparently going to have to do this one baby step at a time. "I'll have whatever you're havin'."

She finally returned his smile before cutting through the cloud of awkwardness that stretched between them and all but escaping into the kitchen.

Peter released the air from his lungs as the tenuous connection snapped with her disappearance around the corner. He contemplated following her, needing to maintain whatever link he could now that he was back within her orbit. Only a few days ago he'd convinced himself that he never wanted to see her again; now he didn't want to let her out of his sight. The emotional see-saw was something he was still trying to get a grip on and her presence had always managed to steady him.

However, her skittishness kept him in check. The last thing she needed was his hovering. The walls were going back up and if he pushed too hard, he might destroy what little progress they'd made. Instead, he circled the couch, slipping off his coat and draping it over the back before settling into the worn cushions. It was presumptuous, he knew, but he was taking a calculated risk. She was getting him a drink, after all.

Olivia sagged against the counter, running a distracted hand roughly through her hair as she waited for the water in the kettle to come to a boil. A tiny, weak part of her, a part she normally kept firmly locked away, wished that she could hide out in the kitchen indefinitely, at least until he got the hint and took off. Thing is, while she didn't know Peter Bishop, she guessed that he wasn't the type to give up easily. Sighing, she rummaged through the cabinets next to the sink. Apparently although she and her doppelganger may be of like minds when it came to spoons, they didn't keep their tea in the same place.

Olivia had been hoping to put off this meeting a little longer. She had wanted to delay it until she was more secure in her position, until she had a better lay of the land and a thorough understanding of her mission.

Finally locating her quarry, Olivia opened the box, paying little attention to the flavour, and dropped a tea bag each into the pair of mugs waiting on the counter. The kettle on the stove started to rattle softly as the water within began to simmer. She was running out of time.

Frantically, she scanned her memory, searching for every tiny detail about her doppelganger's relationship with the man currently waiting for her on the other side of the thin wall. They were obviously close, but if her interpretation of the desperation that had clouded the other Olivia's features, and the cautious hope that currently coloured Bishop's eyes was correct, they weren't lovers. Still, she doubted that she would be able to fool him for long.

Yanking the kettle off the stove before the rattling could erupt into a whistle, Olivia carefully filled each of the mugs, taking a moment to savour the spicy aroma wafting up from the saturated tea leaves. Her analytical mind ran through scenario after scenario, trying to devise the most logical course of action. However, after evaluating every tactical approach she could think of, Olivia came up blank. This was way beyond her training.

Scooping out the bags, she dropped them unceremoniously into the sink before sliding the mugs off the counter. Sucking in a deep breath, Olivia schooled her features and braced for the worst.

Glancing up as she returned from the kitchen, Peter's instinctual smile dissolved into a puzzled frown as Olivia handed him a mug before perching herself on the opposite end of the sofa. Sniffing the contents experimentally, he eyed her quizzically over the rim.

"What?" she asked, eyes darting around the room, trying to deflect his attention. "Do I have something in my teeth?"

Peter blinked sharply as a wave of déjà vu hit him right between the eyes, dragging him back over to the other side, to another Olivia. Forcibly shaking it off, he refocused, smiling through the fragrant steam.

"Trying something new, Dunham? I wasn't gone that long, was I?"

Olivia froze for a just a moment and he took the time to really look at her. She seemed different and it wasn't just the hair. She held herself differently, carefully, as though waiting for the next shoe to drop. He supposed that he couldn't really blame her after the roller coaster of the last few days ... the last few weeks. Walter was behaving much the same way, the tiptoeing on eggshells that came from an intense fear of loss.

Her words, raspy and careworn, broke through his reverie. "Yeah, well. I needed something calming, what with everything that happened."

She was watching him cautiously and pain lanced his heart as he realized just how much damage they'd caused each other. The family he'd grown to rely on, to care about, was in tatters at their feet, the fragile trust they'd built between them over the last year in pieces. He wanted to lay the blame squarely on Walter, perhaps also on Olivia, but he just couldn't seem to do it. He'd meant it when he had said that he was trying to see things their way and while the wounds were still fresh, his perspective was slowly shifting. Like light through a prism, his resentment and hurt came back at him altered, reflecting the spectrum of dread, helplessness, care and need that he imagined had driven Olivia and Walter to hold onto their secret.

'_Keep your people close. Take care of the people you care about.'_

His erstwhile mother's words were a motto both he and Olivia had come to share over the course of their time together. Replaying the last few months, it dawned on him that Olivia had truly lived by that credo, keeping him close the only way she'd known how to at the time.

While the woman who'd raised him may not have been his real mother, she'd still imparted some sound advice, and even after all the lies and deception they were still his people ... _she_ was his people; if they were ever going to rebuild a semblance of what they'd once had, one of them had to take the first step.

She'd crossed universes to save his life; the least he could do was be honest.

Placing his mug on the table, Peter edged closer, reaching out a tentative hand. She didn't recoil and he took it as a sign of encouragement. Bridging the gap, he traced his fingers over the delicate bones of her wrist.

"There was a moment there when I hated you."

She jerked back from his touch and he felt her absence keenly.

Damn it. He didn't mean to be that honest.

Risking a glance into her eyes, Peter was relieved but a little surprised to find only confusion clouding her irises. He'd been expecting worse. He quickly marshalled his thoughts, needing to elaborate before he dug himself in any deeper.

"I mean ... I can understand Walter lying to me for twenty-five years, even my mother, but you... When I woke up in that hospital and everything became clear, I realized that I had to glimmer when you looked at me. Still, there you were smiling like nothing was wrong, like I didn't just wake up and realize my entire life was a sham. I couldn't take it. I never thought you'd be the one to lie to me, 'Livia."

His expectant gaze bored into her as she frantically searched for something to say, grasping at anything that wouldn't betray her position.

'_I need to you take me to Peter Bishop.'_

Her twin's desperate plea resonated within her soul, and for a moment everything - this whole mess- made sense.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, wondering if he'd ever know just how much. "I didn't want to lose you."

The air between them crackled with anticipation and her heart thumped loudly in her chest. Still holding his gaze, Olivia mentally catalogued the location of her weapons. She had a feeling things were about to go downhill fast.

Then, Bishop literally deflated before her eyes, anger bleeding out of him, his face awash with exhaustion. Olivia blew out a breath in response, shoulders sagging with relief. She must have said the right thing.

"I know," he sighed, running a hand over his face. "I get that now. This thing we had ... have, a year ago it would've sent me packing the first chance I got. Then, one day, I suddenly couldn't imagine my life without you in it. You, Walter, Astrid, you've become the family I never really had and now with my real father wanting to turn me into the destroyer of universes, you truly are all I have now. But we're a long way from normal, or at least whatever our version of it is. It's going take time before I can trust again."

The vice which had settled itself around Olivia's heart earlier in the evening drew tighter, cutting off her breath as this man she would never really know laid himself bare in front of her. Guilt churned sickeningly in her stomach and she had to break the connection before he breached her defences. She wasn't sure just how much longer she could hide in plain sight. He didn't let her get far, tipping her head back towards him with gentle pressure under her chin. She was well and truly trapped.

"The day you walked into my life, Liv, I had no idea just how much you were going to turn my world upside-down." A watery chuckle broke through his words as he traced a delicate path up along her jaw-line. "But you've given me everything: a purpose, a home ... hope."

He leaned closer still, his fingers now toying with the delicate wisps of hair that framed her ear. "You told me that I belong with you. I need to know that you meant it. I want to understand, to forgive you. I want to trust you, but you have to meet me halfway."

His sea-coloured eyes were luminous in the dim glow of the table lamp, open and seeking, and the fist inside her chest clenched harder still, her heart breaking ever so slightly for the woman who should've been hearing these words. The fingers in her hair tugged her closer, his eyes searching hers for answers she could never give. If he looked too hard it would all be over.

Letting her eyelids slip closed, she allowed herself to be drawn in the only direction she could go at the moment, trying desperately not to recoil as his lips slid over hers.

Something was off.

Her lips met his kiss for kiss, but she was rigid against him, her body strung tighter than a bow, braced for attack. Determined, Peter pressed deeper, slipping the hand currently not occupied with her hair up over her shoulder to cradle the back of her neck.

Her involuntary flinch as she seemed to force herself to meet his advances sent his stomach plummeting to the floor.

Something was off for a reason.

Little things piled up inside his head, layer upon suffocating layer: her posture, the inflection of her voice, the tea, everything adding up to one horrifying conclusion.

He was kissing the wrong Olivia.

Snapping back as if he'd been burned, Peter could only stare at her dumbly as their bodies tried to catch up with their minds. She regained the ability to move first, launching off the couch, hands behind her back, even as he lunged for her. Scrambling to his feet, Peter found himself nose to muzzle with her Glock.

Glowering over the barrel, he met her defiant smirk, and his heart seized painfully as he wondered how he could've ever thought this woman in front of him was the Olivia he'd known for the better part of nearly two years.

Rising up to his full height, Peter feigned nonchalance as the gun never wavered. This was far from his first rodeo.

"Ya know, I don't think shooting me would go over too well back home."

The poor facsimile of Olivia merely shrugged, levelling the barrel at his centre of mass. "I'm willing to take my chances."

Heart thundering with a potent mixture of anticipation and fury, Peter's lip curled into a sneer as an old idea presented itself. Directing his gaze over her shoulder was all bait he needed and her eyes followed suit. Who'd have thought she'd be so predictable? In the split second when her attention was divided, Peter slid out a hand towards the couch. Snagging his coat, he whirled it over her face like a matador taunting a bull.

Instinctively, she reeled back, fingers tightening over the trigger. Ducking under the flailing fabric, Peter rushed at her unprotected flank, catching her around her waist. Her trigger finger slid home, discharging the gun into the ceiling as she crashed to the floor under his weight.

Rolling as much of his bulk over her as he could, Peter braced himself as Olivia railed against him fiercely. She managed to get one solid shot in, and he fought back the stars that exploded behind his eyes as her left hook connected soundly with his jaw. A surge of anger seared through his veins and he grabbed her right wrist, slamming her hand viciously into the hardwood floor. The weapon remained tight in her grip, so he rammed her fingers down again and again, exorcising his rage and frustration before finally knocking the gun from her grasp.

With a furious cry, Olivia tried to gain leverage against him, but he reared back, snagging her other hand and dragging her up onto her knees before wrenching her right arm behind her back and shoving her face-first into the floor.

Breaths coming in rough pants, Peter loomed over her still struggling form. Dropping his knee into her spine, he pushed her into the unyielding wood. Pulling her hair away from her face with his free hand, he fought back a fresh wave of nausea as his eyes were drawn to an unfamiliar tattoo marring the skin of her neck. Gripping the makeshift ponytail like a rope, he drew her head back close to his lips, ignoring the gasp wrenched from her throat.

Leaning in, his words ghosted over her ear, "You messed with the wrong guy, Sweetheart."

* * *

The security guard barely blinked as she flashed the badge that wasn't hers and strode purposefully, never breaking her stride, towards the bank of elevators along the far wall. She held her breath, counting her lucky stars that the guy had been too bored to actually look at the picture on the small piece of plastic dangling from her hip. Instead, he practically averted his gaze as the Fringe agent glanced furtively over her shoulder while she punched the call button for the cars reaching the upper floors, probably praying her appearance wouldn't result in the whole building being quarantined.

Heart hammering in her chest, Olivia rocked back and forth on her heels, counting down the numbers as they illuminated one by one until the doors opened in front of her. Forcing nonchalance, she stepped forward into the empty car and heaved a sigh of relief as the doors closed, affording her the first bit of relative sanctuary since she'd waltzed into the lobby of the World Trade Center's North Tower. Sucking in another deep breath, she went back to counting off numbers, surprised but glad for the different technology that meant she wasn't going to have to transfer cars part way through. Still, she wished the elevator would rise faster as she carefully kept her face turned away from the camera in the corner.

Just a few more steps.

Absently, she adjusted her belt. The agent who had unwittingly donated their clothing was a size larger and Olivia was constantly needing to pull up the pants. It was a negligible price to pay, however, for the small blessing that finding her way off the boat had proven to be easier than she'd expected. She was certain that the rest of the crew had likely found the young agent by now, bound but unharmed in the same locker that had housed Olivia for the trip to the mainland.

Glancing down at her hands, Olivia suppressed a shudder as memories of screams, blinding heat and fury flashed across her mental canvas, twisting the knot of guilt sitting heavily in her gut. Carefully, she flexed her fingers, marvelling at the pale, unmarred skin that had wrought so much damage over the last few hours. Hazarding a glance to the side of the car, she caught her reflection in the mirrored panel.

She wasn't sure that she knew the woman looking back at her.

Sure, the red hair was jarring, but it was more than that. There was a severity about her, a steeliness to her eyes that she'd never noticed before. Olivia couldn't help but wonder if it had always been there. Blowing out a careful breath through her nostrils, she dropped her eyes to the floor, willing away the cloud of remorse and doubt that threatened to consume her.

Then, shoving her hands into the pockets of her pilfered jacket, Olivia picked up her head and stared resolutely forward. There was no time for looking back. All she could do now was keep herself from ever reaching those depths again.

The soft ping of the elevator reaching its destination coaxed her from her self-flagellation. The doors opened with a hiss to reveal a now-familiar white corridor. As expected, no one was around to greet her this ungodly hour of the morning. Cautiously, she edged her way down the hall, alert for any sign of a trap, retracing steps that were still a hazy memory until she came face to face with the office she was looking for.

Pushing through the door, Olivia half expected to find Bell waiting for her on the other side, sitting placidly at his desk, his fingers steepled under his chin.

The office was empty. The room was still, papers strewn across the glass-topped desk, reading glasses dropped haphazardly on the nearby coffee table next to an oxygen tank she remembered from her last visit. It was as though the occupant has simply disappeared, vanished into the ether while in the middle of just another day. Carefully, she scanned every surface, her trained gaze searching for any hint as to where William Bell went when he wasn't here. A glimmer caught her eye and Olivia turned to find the brass bell she'd remembered seeing before still gracing the corner of his desk, a silent reminder of the office's owner. He must have brought it with him from the other side ... from her side.

It wasn't the only thing that glimmered.

A gentle flicker drew her gaze to the collection of papers scattered on the desk. Switching on a nearby lamp, Olivia came face to face with herself. It was a graduation announcement from Quantico. Riffling through the pile, she caught sight of her name many times, in newspaper articles, official commendations, her mother's obituary. She'd stumbled across a veritable scrapbook of her life.

She hadn't even begun to wonder what it meant when a soft shuffling behind her snapped her mind into full alert. She whirled and the gun at her hip was in her hand, aimed squarely at the potential assailant, before Olivia had even registered her movement.

"Don't move."

It was a woman, thin, and with a very subtle stoop to her shoulders. The cleaning lady? Her hands were held aloft in the universal sign of surrender, but shadows clouded her features.

"Come out where I can see you."

As the stranger moved into the golden glow cast by the desk lamp, Olivia bit back a gasp at the frightened eyes gazing back at her. They were green, like her own, but their warm depths were unmistakable.

"Mrs. Bishop?" The name felt strange on her tongue.

The flash of acknowledgment in the other woman's eyes, confirming her suspicions, was quickly supplanted by a strange mixture of fear, resignation and defiance.

"Did my husband send you?" Her voice was quiet but strong.

Olivia couldn't quite contain her confusion.

"No. I'm looking for William Bell. I need his help, Mrs. Bishop. Peter and Walter, the other Walter … they … they don't know I'm here."

Mrs. Bishop stepped closer at the mention of her son's name. "You know my son?" she asked, studying Olivia with narrowed eyes.

Suddenly, recognition dawned across the older woman's face, her eyes going wide with alarm. "You're Olivia. You're _Peter's_ Olivia," she whispered, her voice laden with dismay. "You should've been with them," she added, almost as an afterthought.

Olivia staggered under the weight of all the disjointed information bearing down on her already exhausted mind, her injured shoulder protesting its current position. The gun faltered and she swayed on her feet. Peter's mother closed the distance, catching Olivia under her arms and taking most of her weight onto her own body.

"You're injured," she muttered, reflexively putting her hand to Olivia's forehead. "You look exhausted. Come, sit down."

Unwanted moisture stung Olivia's eyes as she let herself be led to a nearby couch. Weariness dragged on her every muscle as the adrenaline that had been propelling her forward for the last endless number of hours finally petered out. Her battered feet hobbled along the hardwood floor in her oversized boots. Collapsing on the couch, she offered no resistance as Mrs. Bishop urged her back against the cushions, her weathered hands fluttering over Olivia's body as though she couldn't figure out where was safe to touch. It had been so long since she'd received any form of comfort that the sudden mothering by the woman who had brought Peter into the world blew past all of her defenses, drawing tears of both sorrow and relief down her reddened cheeks.

Of course, Mrs. Bishop noticed. "Oh, dear, it's okay," she soothed, smudging the salty trails with her thumb. "We'll figure this out. Please, call me Elizabeth."

Her words snapped Olivia out of her sudden funk like a bucket of ice water. Blinking, she ruthlessly reminded herself that she was far from out of the woods yet.

Eyes focused, she stilled Elizabeth's fussing with a sharp look. "How do you know who I am? What are you doing here? Where's Bell?"

The questions spilled from her lips, her mind once again spinning at full speed, trying to make sense of the puzzle in which she currently found herself immersed.

Sucking in a deep breath, Peter's mother sat heavily on the coffee table. Running a hand up over her graying hair and tucking a few wayward strands back into the loose bun, the older woman seemed to search for a place to begin.

"It's complicated," she said finally, echoing another conversation Olivia remembered having in this room. The FBI agent regarded her steadily, urging Elizabeth to continue.

"William has been a part of my life for a long time. We met over fifteen years ago at a party after my husband had been promoted to the post of Secretary of Defense. Walter had introduced him to me as one of the Department's suppliers."

A whisper of a smile tugged at Elizabeth's lips as she let herself be drawn into the memory. "William was charming, and I found myself seeking out his company whenever we both ended up at the same functions. My husband is always busy at those things, you see, working the room, maintaining contacts."

Olivia sat up straighter, curiosity sending another much-needed shot of adrenaline to her system.

"Well, after a while, we started seeking each other out away from public events."

Elizabeth fidgeted, seeming to shrink into herself, but Olivia didn't let her get far. A tentative brush of her fingers across Mrs. Bishop's hand drew the other woman's gaze to hers.

"I've been lonely a long time. Even before we lost Peter, I…."

A crushing wave of guilt threatened to drown her heart as Olivia realized just what this woman had been through losing her son. She'd felt it herself in those endless grey days that had followed his leaving. Still, the emptiness that had consumed her was likely nothing compared to what Elizabeth Bishop had suffered over the last twenty-five years. Reflexively, Olivia slid her fingers under the older woman's hand, lacing them together in a silent and inadequate apology for pain she'd endured.

Elizabeth answered with a watery smile. "William filled a void, and for a while it worked. Then, one day he told me the truth." Her eyes darkened with the memory. "He did it because he could no longer go back and I suppose he thought that he needed a fresh start or something. I was furious, livid, I, I can't even describe to you how angry I was. All that time he'd had access to my son, had known where he was and now when he couldn't bring him back…."

Olivia's brows furrowed trying to imagine how she would handle such an unbelievable situation. "But you forgave him?"

The older woman started at the question, drawn out of a painful period that, although it had been dulled with age, still cut her to the core. Her eyes softened as she regarded the FBI agent. "I know it's hard to fathom, but yes, I did. In time, I understood what your Walter had done and I was just grateful to know that Peter was alive and, for all accounts, well. I found that despite my sense of betrayal, I just couldn't reject William completely. He began to fill a new void, feeding me snippets of my son's life as they reached him from the other side. I never told Walter. He'd become consumed with vengeance and power by that point and I figured it would do more harm than good."

Olivia couldn't help but flinch at her mention of the man whose face haunted her nightmares in the darkness. Biting her lip, she remained silent, unsure of just how much Peter's mother knew about the man she shared her life with, and not wanting to add any more pain to an already heavy load.

"Don't misunderstand me, Olivia. I love my husband and I always will, but he stopped being the man I married a long time ago. Even before Peter disappeared, and then after, we've dealt with losing him in very different ways." Sighing resignedly, she pressed forward, "I'm beginning to understand just what he's become and I'm relieved to know that Peter will be kept safe from that."

Olivia tightened her grip, squeezing Elizabeth's fingers as her heart was squeezed painfully in her chest.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Bishop," she whispered.

"Whatever for?"

"You've found your son after all these years and I came to take him away from you again. I'm sorry you have to go through that."

Elizabeth smiled serenely. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm starting to understand just how much danger he's in on this side. Seeing him again was the greatest joy of my life, but I only want him to be safe and happy, and he seems to be that way with you."

"I still don't understand how you know who I am."

The older woman's lips spread further into an almost impish grin. "My son talks in his sleep, my dear."

Olivia couldn't fight the colour that warmed her cheeks.

Elizabeth's gentle laugh was a welcome moment of levity in an otherwise dismal situation. "While that's true, I've actually heard a lot about you from William."

Olivia's eyes strayed to the desk, her mind harkening back to the collection of papers she'd discovered earlier. Peter's mother noticed her gaze and nodded. "He's followed your progress for a long time. I think he's always thought of you as the daughter he never had."

Her weary mind struggled to grasp all the threads that were slowly weaving together, forming a picture she'd never even begun to imagine. Still, there were more pressing matters bearing down on them.

"Where is Dr. Bell?"

The mirth in the older woman's eyes faded. "I'm not entirely sure. A few days ago, he contacted me and told me that Peter had to go back, and that you and Walter had come to take him over. He told me that they were going to need his help and we'd probably never see each other again. He said something about there being more atoms in the human body than there are stars in the sky."

Olivia's heart plummeted to the floor as her words clicked the puzzle pieces into place. The doorstop - Bell had opened the door with the only power source he had: himself.

William Bell was gone.

Sucking in a breath, Olivia fought to still the swirling mass of dread and desperation that threatened to suck her down into their depths. The balloon had drifted away and the wizard was gone. She'd missed her only ride home.

Suddenly a cool hand drew her back to the present. Blinking, she met Elizabeth's worried gaze. Face crumpling with sadness, she let herself be drawn into a mother's embrace for the first time she could remember.

"Shh," Peter's mother whispered into her hair, hands gently soothing up over her back. "We'll find a way to get you home.


	5. Tap your heels together three times

**Ruby Slippers**

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing related to Fringe, just the thoughts in my head.

**Rating**: T (violence and language)

**Summary**: There's no place like home – a journey both within and without as Peter and Olivia find their way back to each other.

**Spoilers: **Post-ep to Over There 1 & 2

**Author's Notes**: Okay, I'm a little later than I'd hoped, but in my defence, I did managed to finish the first draft of this chapter before the premier. It was just a difficult piece that took some back and forth with my fabulous beta, Joy, to work out some of the kinks. Brace yourselves, this is a long one and there is some rather harsh language, not much, but enough to warrant the rating.

A huge thank you to all of you who are following this story, especially those who take the time to let me know what you think. I'm really glad to know that you are enjoying it. I hope this climax lives up to expectations, especially now that we have the real thing to enjoy. This is by far the most complex story I've ever written. I imagine there should only be one more chapter after this. Thanks for hanging in there.

Thanks, as always to my amazing beta, Joy, for coaxing out the better writer in me.

* * *

Chapter 5

"_Tap your heels together three times and think to yourself …"_

The drab, grey cinderblock walls closed in around him as Peter stared resolutely through the ghost of his reflection into the brightly lit room beyond.

They were getting nowhere.

Agent Broyles had been alternating between chipping at her foundation and tearing at her walls for over an hour and a half and they were no closer to determining the nature of this other Olivia's mission. They were also not any closer to finding the woman she'd replaced.

Peter's fists clenched reflexively as a defiant smirk spread across _her_ face in response to another one of Broyles' parries. He'd turned the speaker off about fifteen minutes earlier, unable to swallow the venom and sarcasm that was wrapped in a voice he knew so well. Fury still burned hot through his veins, flaring brightly with every shrug of her shoulders or sneer on her lips. However, an increasingly larger portion of his anger was being directed inward. Guilt followed quickly on its heels as he berated himself for being so easily deceived. He'd wanted to have something to hold onto so badly that he'd been willing to overlook the inconsistencies that had been gnawing at his gut.

Through the red haze of rage and self-flagellation, dread loomed like an iceberg, threatening to send him sinking into the depths of helpless worry. If there was one thing Peter knew in this head-trip that he found himself in, it was that Olivia, _his_ Olivia hadn't switched places willingly. It could only mean that she was in serious trouble. Fear dragged it icy fingers down his spine as his overactive mind considered all the variables and ran all the scenarios that could play out between Olivia and his father.

None of them were good.

The air behind him shifted, setting the hairs on the back on his neck on end. A soft shuffling reminded him of the room's other occupant. Walter was hovering, rocking back and forth on his heels, his eyes trained warily on the side of Peter's head.

Peter could feel the unspoken words buzzing in the air around them as his erstwhile father tried to figure out just how much support, if any, Peter was willing to accept. He hadn't asked for him to come, but word must have gotten around to Astrid, which meant it ultimately reached Walter. The older man had slipped into the observation room about twenty minutes ago. Peter hadn't acknowledged him, wishing to be alone with his anger, but no amount of willing him away would make the man leave.

Peter knew that despite all evidence to the contrary, Walter wasn't that inept at reading body language and sure enough, a surreptitious glance over his shoulder revealed a man who was both wary but determined. Peter had chosen this side, and Walter had apparently decided that he was going to be a good father whether his would-be son liked it or not.

Consciously, he tamped down the wave of irritation that had become nearly a reflex to Walter's presence and actually took a moment to consider the man next to him. They were such different men, the two Walters … his two fathers.

Coming face to face with the other Walter, his real father, Peter had expected to feel an instinctual connection or something, to feel home, like he'd finally found the answers to questions he'd never figured out how to ask. Watching him move about his office, the power and confidence he exuded, Peter had wanted to be proud to have come from such successful stock. However, once the wide-eyed wonder of his initial return had been replaced with the horror of what his birthright had become, Peter had realized that there had truly been nothing there. The benevolent smile and open arms had simply been a mask hiding the cold, hardened man within.

Glancing to his right as the man beside him edged a little closer, Peter couldn't help but acknowledge that even with all his bizarre predilections, disregard for the inconvenience of morality while conducting experiments and the glaring fact that he'd kidnapped him as a child, he actually liked this Walter better. Oh, he was not without his disturbingly callous moments; Peter couldn't help but remember that this was the same man who had devised and administered the Cortexiphan trials, traumatizing young children and forever changing Olivia. However, unlike the father whose blood Peter truly shared, the Walter who'd raised him apparently had a good heart deep within the shell he had become. Still, he couldn't help but wonder how this Walter would be today if it hadn't been for the homemade lobotomy.

'_I did it because you asked me to, Walter, because of what you were becoming.'_

Perhaps once the mind had been wrestled into submission, the heart had been able to reassert itself; but did Bell's last words truly mean what Peter thought they did? Had Walter really asked to be reduced to the ghost of a man beside him? Memories of the cold, driven scientist from his childhood drew a chilling parallel with the other side's Secretary of Defense. Somehow, this Walter had foreseen where he was headed and stopped the progress, with drastic results.

A strange new wave of emotion followed in the wake of these revelations. Pausing to analyze it, Peter was startled to discover that it was respect and gratitude for Walter's sacrifices, for him and likely also for both universes.

"I'm sorry, son."

Walter's mumbled words finally drew Peter's gaze away from the window. Turning, he couldn't help the twinge of sorrow that squeezed his heart as the older man realized his slip and braced himself for a rebuke. Peter couldn't find the one that would've been on his tongue only moments ago. Instead, he inched closer, softening the lines of his body, hoping to put his would-be father a little more at ease.

It gave Walter the confidence to continue. "I shouldn't have asked them to help me. I shouldn't have asked them to come. Now they're gone, Nick, James, Sally … Olivia-"

Peter's eyes flashed sharply, cutting him off before he could put a voice to their worst fears. The anger abated, however, nearly as quickly as it had flared, leaving behind only weariness and fear. Sighing, he ran a shaky hand up over his brow and though his hair.

"It's not your fault, Walter; at least not directly. I don't know about the rest of them, but I know Olivia and she would have never done anything she didn't want to do."

'_You belong with me.'_

The memory of her words was both a comfort and a curse. He'd found his anchor only to lose it again. Now, he was adrift once more, searching for the one place he knew he would feel at home.

Frustrated, Peter directed his gaze back towards the glass, his eyes boring into the room, willing the woman within to lead him to Olivia. He was so focused on his quarry that he almost didn't notice the tentative brush of weathered fingers over his. Still, an instinct born of distant childhood memories of a father nursing him back to heath caused him to hold on to the only constant he had left.

"We'll get her back."

Peter couldn't quite repress the bubble of child-like hope that his father was right.

* * *

The glare of the late afternoon sun filtering between dead branches tickled her eyelids, drawing Olivia out of her restless doze. Carefully, she opened her eyes, slowly teasing her grit-coated lashes apart. Blinking through a haze of uncertainty, she fought down a bubble of panic as she attempted to piece together the last few hours of her life.

The soothing scent of lavender and rosewater washed over her where she sat buckled into the passenger seat of a car, filling in the gaps of her bruised and battered mind. Lolling her head gently to the side, Olivia considered the woman currently shuttling her along the back roads between New York and Boston.

Before leaving the sanctuary of Bell's office, Peter's mother had tended to her wounds, moving with a gentle grace and precision that spoke of professional training. At Olivia's obvious curiosity, Elizabeth had revealed that she had been a nurse many years ago, leaving the profession after marrying Walter. She had considered returning to practice after they had lost Peter, but her husband would have none of it. So, she had fulfilled her need to help people through numerous volunteer positions.

Her skill was more than Olivia could've ever wished for. The wounds on her feet were in the beginning stages of infection and the bullet graze on her shoulder had also needed attention. Most concerning, however, had been her startling level of dehydration. Releasing the fire within had drained her reserves even more than she had realized.

The hours had seemed interminable while Olivia's strength had slowly returned. Still, they remained undisturbed. It seemed that all the people associated with Bell's existence on this side had vanished with him. No voices or footsteps passed outside the heavy doors as Olivia dozed fitfully on the couch, hooked up to a portable cell perfusion unit, a piece of technology they'd found in the antechamber of Bell's office. Apparently his crossing universes without the proper abilities had had lasting physiological effects.

Eventually the danger of staying in one place had overridden her need to heal, and Olivia had convinced Elizabeth to move. The older woman had taken to her role easily, and spirited the FBI agent out of Manhatan. Olivia had crammed her battered body into the trunk of Elizabeth's car, bracing herself against the bumps and jarring stops along the road until they were well outside the city and she could join Peter's mother inside.

Harvard had been the only viable option, to return to where it had all began. Bell and Walter had managed to find what they needed there; maybe there was something left. However, even if there was, Olivia wasn't overly confident that they would recognize it.

"You love my son, don't you?"

The startling words couched in Elizabeth's soft lilt dragged Olivia forcefully from her musing. Sitting up straight in her seat, she tried to wrap her head around the question, searching for the right answer, unsure of what the woman wanted to hear. Finally, keeping her eyes trained on the windshield, she gave the only truth she knew.

"I … I don't know."

Peter's mother drew her eyes from the road ahead and regarded her passenger patiently, her eyes warm, stirring a sense of security deep within Olivia that she had lost a long time ago.

"You do know," she insisted, a gentle smile teasing her lips. "You wouldn't have done all this for anything less."

Olivia sighed, turning finally to meet Elizabeth's gaze before running a shaky hand through hair she was still getting used to. Her heart thumped insistently in her chest, each beat an echo of the desperation that had driven her to this side, the near frantic need not to save Peter or their world from destruction, but to simply to see him again, to have him back. Love had been nothing but trouble in her life, and this mess was no exception.

"It's complicated."

Elizabeth actually laughed at that. "It always is."

Olivia cut her eyes away, staring out over the grey countryside, and wishing that just for once, something in her life could be simple.

"I'm glad he has you, Olivia."

Maybe simple was overrated.

* * *

He was champing at the bit by the time Broyles finally gave up.

"Let me in there." It was out of his mouth before the senior agent had even made it through the door of the observation room.

Broyles regarded him sternly, dark eyes boring into Peter, assessing his state of mind, weighing his options.

"What makes you think you'll do any better?"

Peter met the tall, dark man's gaze measure for measure, drawing himself up to his full height. He knew it would only rankle Broyles further, but there was no way he wasn't going to get his shot. "Because no one wants Olivia back more than I do."

The FBI agent's eyes flashed with tightly contained anger, every line in his body rigid with frustration. Through clenched teeth, he replied, "Don't even think for a minute, Bishop, that I want to see Agent Dunham's return any less than you do. My best agent was captured on my watch. This is personal, but I have protocols, limits that I have to work within."

Peter's lips spread into the barest hint of a grim smile. "Good thing I don't."

He was out the door before Broyles or Walter could stop him.

His momentum ebbed slightly as he reached the entrance to the interrogation room. It felt vaguely like entering a lion's den, but he wasn't entirely sure which one of them was the lion. Focusing his whirling thoughts, Peter blew a steadying breath out through his nostrils, reminding himself that the truth was the only acceptable outcome, even if it wasn't what he wanted to hear. After a beat, he pushed through into the room.

She met him with a smile and a predatory gleam in her eye.

"What took you so long?"

Peter just managed to cover the slight falter in his steps at the sound of her voice.

'_This isn't your Olivia,'_ he reminded his racing heart, tamping down the spark of longing in his chest and slipping into the seat across from her.

Feigning a lazy air of nonchalance, he asked, "What do you mean?"

Olivia's doppelganger rocked back in her chair, her smile easing into a smirk. "I know you've been watching all this time. I had expected you to snap and come in here and beat the crap out of me over an hour ago."

Peter matched her expression with a sly grin of his own. "Well, then you don't know me very well."

Her eyes lit up at that. "Don't I?" Bringing up her hands, she started counting off points on her fingers. "You're a genius with all the potential in the world, but you've always felt wrong and out of place. You've got serious daddy issues and you've spent your life trying to figure out where you fit. You finally find a girl who makes you feel like you belong, but you're both so emotionally screwed up that you can't get it together. Then, you suddenly figure out why you feel like such a freak and go running back to discover your real Mommy and Daddy aren't who you remember them to be. She follows and you decide you can't live without her, right?"

Peter blinked slowly and deliberately, choking back a strangled laugh, refusing to give her a tell. She wasn't all that far off, and it was unsettling to have his life summed up in a Reader's Digest Condensed Version so callously.

She took his lack of an answer as confirmation.

"Damn, that's pathetic; you're both pathetic."

He clenched his fists on the table top, carefully tempering his anger. "What's pathetic is you blindly following the orders of a madman."

He struck a nerve. Her head shot up as her back went ramrod straight. Her eyes skittered away from him as she gave him a pat answer, "I'm doing my job, protecting my country … my universe from those who would destroy us."

Peter did laugh then, the sound hollow in the grey room. "Do you even know who the bad guys are? You've been dropped into this thing blind. I'm willing to bet you didn't even know this universe existed until I met you the other day. You have no idea what our motives are or whether this side is truly a threat. All you have to go on is the ravings of a man who has built his life on vengeance."

Watching carefully, Peter noticed the softening in her eyes, the flicker of doubt growing in their jade depths. Changing tactics, he decided to shake her up a little. Leaning forward almost conspiratorially, he continued, "Not to mention you really suck at counter-intelligence. All you've done so far is play dress-up in another woman's life."

The colour of her eyes shifted again, only this time to something much darker. He'd inadvertently given her an opening.

"That's what bothering you, isn't it?" she deduced, meeting him halfway and leaning into his space. "I've been living _her_ life, in _her_ apartment, sleeping in _her_ bed for the last few days and you didn't even notice. Just how well do you really know her? Or were you just so desperate to belong anywhere that you were willing to overlook the details?"

Peter sat stonily across from her, but apparently Olivia Dunham being able to see through his poker face was another universal constant.

"That is it, isn't it?" she continued, building up momentum now. "You did have doubts. They've been eating at you these last few days. You just wanted so much for me to be _her_ that you ignored everything that genius brain of yours was telling you. How far would you have gone, huh? How far would you have pushed yourself to believe it was real? Would you have fucked me? Have you fucked your Olivia, or was she too frigid to let you anywhere near her?" Her eyes blazed with a spark of pure rancor. "Would you even know the difference?"

His reflexes had kicked in before either of them even realized he'd moved. His eyes flashed black the instant before he was hauling her out of her seat and backing her up into the wall. The chair had barely hit the floor by the time he had her pinned to the cinderblock, one hand in her hair and his arm pressed menacingly against the pale column of her exposed throat.

Towering over her, Peter met her wide-eyed gaze, their breaths mingling in heavy pants. As he watched the surprise in the green depths of her irises fade to triumph, he couldn't help but concede that she knew him better than he'd thought.

* * *

The last rays of the setting sun diffused through the translucent medium of the quarantine amber that dominated the Harvard campus and much of Boston itself, setting it aglow like a giant lamp. Olivia couldn't quite ignore the heavy knot of horror that lodged itself in her chest as she stared at the faces of those who didn't make it out, forever frozen in time, neither dead nor living, all because a father's love and scientific curiosity had outstripped common sense. She couldn't help but wonder if this would have been her universe's fate had this world's Peter died first.

Shaking her head forcefully, Olivia tried to dislodge the darkness that was loomed in her mind. A gentle hand on her shoulder helped clear the cobwebs, and she turned to meet Elizabeth's patient gaze.

"The lab is in there," she directed, pointing to a building Olivia had come to know as well as her own home.

"I know the way."

The sense of déjà vu was jarring as the lights snapped on in sequence, sending her back over a year to when this was all still just a job and not her destiny. Casting a glance at her companion, she found Peter's mother lost in her own memories, her expression a curious mix of wistful and angry. Returning the favour she'd been given earlier, Olivia reached out and ran tentative fingers along the older woman's arm, drawing her attention.

Elizabeth came back to herself with a quiet sigh and surveyed the room. "I have to confess, Olivia, I don't really know what most of this stuff is."

Olivia smiled thinly in return. "Neither do I. Hopefully, we'll know when we find it."

The room had obviously been in some semblance of order over the years, but now drop cloths littered the floor and hung haphazardly on any available surface, likely the result of Bell and Walter's rummaging. Dust hung heavily in the air, irritating her senses, and Olivia eyed each new uncovered piece of machinery dubiously.

She'd never missed Peter more than in this moment. The purely practical side of her desperately wished for his insight and remarkable wealth of random trivia. If anyone could find the needle they needed in this haystack, it would be him. Beyond the pragmatic, the rest of her ached for his presence, yearned for the way his wry humour always managed to calm her even in the worst situations.

Her heart pounded insistently in her chest, each beat a solemn reminder that their time was limited, that Walternate would find them if they didn't figure out how to make the jump soon. Frustration brimmed over as she whipped off another sheet to reveal yet one more unidentifiable object. Without Walter and Peter to guide her, the chances of finding her way home were looking bleak.

The steady pressure of Elizabeth's gaze drew her attention.

"What?"

The one word carried all the weight of her irritation and Olivia flinched apologetically. Peter's mother, however, was unperturbed. Edging closer to Olivia, she ventured, "Olivia, I'm wondering if the key that you need has always been with you."

The FBI agent furrowed her brows in response the cryptic observation. Elizabeth continued with a mild hesitation.

"William was so proud of you. He loved to tell me of your progress, of your talents. He told me only a few months ago that you'd managed to cross to this side on your own. Could you not just do it again?"

Olivia's shoulders slumped. Somewhere in the back of her mind she'd been expecting the question and the answer was the source of much of her aggravation.

"If I could, don't you think I would have done it by now?" Her voice was ragged with helplessness. "I can't control it and I don't have the strength to carry anyone else with me."

Elizabeth smiled patiently. "You don't have to take anyone with you."

Olivia's eyes went wide. "You're not coming? I mean, it can't be safe here for you now and Peter-"

Grey eyes clouded with sadness before steeling in determination. "As much as I would love to be with you and Peter, something I'm certain will happen one day, right now I am still needed here."

The younger woman sensed that there were layers to her words that she didn't yet understand, but Olivia didn't push and simply nodded solemnly before recalling the other issue.

"Even if I'm not taking a passenger, I still don't know how to make the jump on my own. Walter talked us through it last time." A shudder arced its way down her spine as the memory of their arrival on this side flashed across her mind's eye.

A cool hand against her cheek focused her thoughts. Opening eyes she didn't realize she had closed, Olivia met Elizabeth's encouraging gaze. "Try and remember, Olivia. I don't think that we're going to find any other way." She gestured helplessly at the disarray around them. "Your gift is the only way you're going to get home. You just have to concentrate."

Holding the older woman's eyes only a little longer, Olivia tried to convey the overwhelming gratitude that threatened to swell her heart to bursting. Tears gathered at her lashes as she tried to find the words to thank Elizabeth for being the rudder she'd needed when everything else was lost. Any words that had been about to come, however, were silenced by a cool finger to her lips and a gentle kiss to her cheek.

"You don't have to say anything, dear. Just go. My son is waiting for you."

Nodding, the tears finally broke free and trailed down her red cheeks as Olivia let her eyes slip closed again. Peter's mother drew back, tucking wayward strands of reddish hair behind the younger woman's ear. Focussing her thoughts inward, Olivia willed the straining muscles of her body to relax, for her mind to stop its constant whirring and just let the world, this world, slip away. She could do this. She had to.

A sudden whisper across her consciousness set all of her senses on alert. Stretching her awareness beyond the room, Olivia's stomach roiled as the rumble of armoured vehicles rolling up to the door roared through her mind.

Her eyes snapped open, the naked fear in her olive gaze mirrored in the face of the woman in front of her.

"They're here."

* * *

Her breath hitched painfully as he dug his arm steadily into her trachea. Despite her best efforts, a whisper of fear crept into the edges of her mind with each erratic thump of his heart against her chest as he loomed over her, pressing her back into the unrelenting wall. Still, her overriding sense was one of relief; this she could deal with.

This was how an enemy was supposed to behave, not with attempts to reason or bids for understanding like their Agent Broyles had resorted to before finally giving up. This raw demonstration of violence, the hate, the anger boiling behind Bishop's eyes, this was what she'd been trained for.

Hatred and distrust was easy to work with. It gave her something to rally against, a target on which to focus her thoughts and drown out the uncertainty that had been building in her mind from the moment she'd stepped foot in this God-forsaken universe.

It had taken root the moment she'd seen herself on the hospital's closed-circuit camera and had been growing within her, like a virus, attacking all she'd ever held as true. She'd started this week confident in her place in the world, in what was right and wrong. Now, she wasn't even sure how many worlds there were, let along who were the good guys in this multi-dimensional mess. Living in _her_ apartment hadn't helped, and neither had her conversations with Bishop.

'_Don't be fooled, Olivia. They are monsters in our skin.'_

She wanted to believe that; she really did, so she'd pushed and pushed until she'd drawn the monster out. Now she revelled in her accomplishment, meeting Bishop's fury with defiance, willing him to sink deeper into his loathing, to become the foe she needed him to be. If the pressure on her ribcage was any indication, it was working. She drew her shields tightly around her, clinging like a lifeline to reality as she knew it.

'_You have to trust me; I'm you.'_

Then, her guard slipped.

Suddenly, the fire in Peter's eyes dimmed ever so slightly, replaced by a considering look, as though he was pondering a particularly difficult equation. Desperately, she tried to rally, to beat back the doubts that just refused to relinquish their grip even as Bishop's hold on her loosened, the pieces of her puzzle clicking together behind his steely gaze.

Carefully, he eased his weight off of her, his arms still pinning her in place. She could've thrown him off easily, but the force of his determination kept her immobile.

"I know what you're doing."

Any attempt to feign ignorance was pointless at this stage, but she held her tongue regardless.

"You need me to be the bad guy," he deduced, tilting his head to one side, eyeing her curiously. "You need a clear enemy to fight against."

Still, Liv refused to relent, _'they're monsters,'_ running like a mantra through her jumbled mind as she tried to project an air of confidence that had already left her. The effort was useless anyway. Apparently, Peter Bishop could read Olivia Dunham, regardless of what universe she came from.

Peter backed away completely and she had to fight against the overwhelming desire to just sink to the floor under the weight of conflicting knowledge and emotions bearing down on her. Bishop must have sensed it, because for half a moment, he looked like he was poised to catch her, before checking himself.

"That's just it, Sweetheart; I'm not the bad guy here, neither are you and neither is the woman whose life you've taken over."

"They ruined my world." Her simple words were laced with a venom that came from deep within. At least there was one truth she could cling to.

Peter sighed, running a hand over his tired face.

"Need I remind you that it's my world too, but I came back over to this side. Do you know why?"

Liv snorted in derision. "Because, like all men, you think with your dick."

She was surprised when Bishop had to suppress a laugh before continuing. "While whatever it is I have with Olivia did play a part in my decision, it wasn't the only reason."

Liv avoided his eyes, trying and failing to maintain an air of disinterest. Bishop stepped back into her orbit, every muscle in his body taut with determination.

"I came back because I wouldn't ... I couldn't be a party to any more destruction, of any world. I came back because I refuse to become my father, either of them. I refuse to be cannon fodder in a war I didn't start."

She started as his hand closed over hers.

"We're pawns, Olivia," he insisted, dropping his head level with hers, trying to snag her gaze. "We're pawns in a game we don't completely understand; but we can change the rules. You, me, Olivia, Charlie, we're the ones with the power. We just have to take the reins out of their hands."

She shook her head, trying to dispel his words, like water droplets clinging to her mind. She felt unstable, fighting for purchase in this new, unwanted reality. He was right; she didn't understand the game, hadn't even known it existed until a few days ago. Normally, that wouldn't bother her. She'd been trained, raised even, to obey orders. She was a soldier and war was messy.

However, she'd never fought an enemy that shared her face, who shared her life, her values and fears, whose loved ones were mirror images of all she held dear. If these people were indeed monsters, why did walking among them, living among them feel just this side of right?

Bishop wouldn't relent, wedging the door to her heart open just a little more with each new volley.

"Are you willing to be responsible for the deaths of billions of people?" he pushed. "Because that's where we're headed. You're my father's new weapon now that he's lost me."

Her mind screamed at her in the voices of her superiors that she was being brainwashed, that this was just another attempt to undermine their survival; but for the first time in her life, she ignored them. She was tired of the violence and destruction, even before she'd had a face to put on the cause. Maybe Bishop was right; maybe they could change the game, and in doing so reach some sort of stability, if not peace. Blowing out a steadying breath, Liv took a leap that she fervently hoped that she wouldn't regret.

"What exactly do you have in mind?"

Peter's whole body sagged with relief.

* * *

Olivia's mind raced as she glanced up and down the hallway outside the lab, quickly plotting out, and immediately discarding, several half-baked plans of attack. The agents were forming a perimeter; they would be moving in soon. Elizabeth grabbed her hand, pulling her back into the room and shutting the door.

"We need to buy some time." The older woman's words were a perfect echo of her own thoughts.

Scanning the lab, an idea that she could actually work with began to form. "Find me the most flammable liquids you can."

As Elizabeth set about her search, Olivia stretched her senses, training her ears on the ever-increasing din outside the laboratory doors. Footsteps could be heard pounding on the floors above, hard rubber soles thudding against the worn tile, cutting off any escape. Time was quickly running out.

She started as a glass bottle was thrust into her hands, drawing her back to herself. Turning, Olivia met Elizabeth's expectant gaze, her eyes dark with concern.

"They've got all the exits covered. There's no way to get you out of here unless you come with me."

The older woman shook her head, just a little breathless, but with determination etched across her face. "I'm pretty sure there's one they don't know about. It's an old building; they loved secret passageways back then. There's a stairwell off the back of the lab," she described, pointing to a shadowed corner of the room Olivia hadn't noticed. "It leads to a tunnel that crosses under the quad. I'll have slipped out of the biology building long before they know I'm gone,"

Olivia didn't feel overly confident in her plan, but Elizabeth was having none of it. Laying a gentle hand on her shoulder, she continued, "Don't worry about me. Now, buy us some time so you can get back to Kansas, Dorothy."

The FBI agent couldn't help but laugh at just how much Elizabeth reminded her of Peter in that moment.

"Okay, back up a bit. I'm not sure if this'll work."

The footsteps were almost upon them, about twenty feet down the hall and closing in. Focussing her whole being on the flask in her hand, Olivia felt the glass grow warm. Drawing deep, she fed this time on the new love that had grown within her heart overnight, love for the woman who was currently risking everything for her. Suddenly, the bottle flashed orange before she felt the glass give way and the liquid within explode into a fireball in her hand. Throwing open the door, Olivia hurled the firebomb at the approaching troops. The flaming liquid splashed against the scuffed floor, quickly erupting into a spectacular blaze. The agents fell back immediately, unable to find a way around the quickly growing wall of fire.

Elizabeth passed her a second round. It was easier to ignite than the first and Olivia sent it flying down the other length of hallway, quickly creating an impenetrable barrier, at least for the time being.

Satisfied with her handiwork, Olivia pulled the heavy wooden doors shut against the roar of the fire and frustrated agents. Together, they dragged over as many heavy pieces of machinery as they could, effectively barricading the door.

"You have to go, dear, now."

Peter's mother herded her to a corner of the lab, as far away from the chaos building at the entrance as possible. Settling her into a chair, Elizabeth crouched before her, holding her gaze, her grey eyes bright with determination.

"You've done this before, Olivia. Try and remember what it felt like, what Walter and William taught you," she urged as the younger woman settled into a relaxed pose as best she could.

Olivia's eyes slipped closed only to snap open again at the press of something cool against her palm.

"What's this?" she asked, opening her hand to discover a well-worn silver dollar.

Elizabeth's smile was tinged with sadness this time. "I want you to give this to him … to the other Walter. Tell him, 'thank you', and to take good care of my son." Leaning in, she pressed a second kiss to Olivia's cheek where tears were again threatening to escape the confines of her lashes. "Take care of yourself, Olivia Dunham. I'm sure we'll see each other again soon."

"I don't know how to thank you-"

"Shh," Elizabeth silenced her with a finger to her lips. "You have nothing to thank me for. You've risked everything for my family. I'm just returning the favour."

The heavy doors to the lab rattled loudly as the full weight of a battering ram was thrown against it. The agents had made it through the firewall and were just outside the threshold. Eyes wide, Olivia, pushed Elizabeth away, worry eating at her heart.

"Go!"

With one last kiss to Olivia's cheek, the older woman slipped away, disappearing into the shadows.

The danger just outside her door threatened to distract her, challenging her concentration, but Olivia forced her eyes shut, willing herself to believe in everything Walter and Bell had told her, willing herself to believe that she could walk across worlds at will. She had to believe. There was nowhere else to run, no one else to take her home. Frantically, she fought to remember Walter's instructions.

'_Clear your mind and try to relax.'_

The solid wood strained against its hinges, cracking loudly under the agents' attack.

'_Imagine this universe slipping away.'_

The shriek of metal sliding against the tile floor pierced through the mounting noise that already filled the room. Olivia forced herself to keep her eyes closed against her approaching doom, holding fiercely to the only tether she could - Peter's face flashing across the darkness of her mind. Soon, he was joined by images of her sister, of Ella. Light crept into her peripheral vision as she whispered to herself, "There's no place like home. There's no place like home."

The noise grew impossibly louder as the barricade toppled in a heap of mangled metal, thrown aside by the charge of a small grenade. Flashlight beams pierced through the smoke and dust, their shafts of light competing with the brightness growing beneath her closed eyelids.

'_Allow your imagination to take you.'_

"There's no place like home."

Agents followed quickly behind the beams; shouts of "Stop!" and bullets sang through the air. Olivia opened her eyes as the light within her grew to a blinding blue, before everything was engulfed in blackness.


	6. There's No Place Like Home

**Ruby Slippers**

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing related to Fringe, just the thoughts in my head.

**Rating**: T (violence and mildly suggestive situations)

**Summary**: There's no place like home – a journey both within and without as Peter and Olivia find their way back to each other.

**Spoilers: **Post-ep to Over There 1 & 2

**Author's Notes**: Wow, this was a lot harder to write, than I expected. Apparently I get attached to my characters and I had a real struggle with one section (I'm sure you'll figure out which one).

Turns out, we're not done yet. I have one more in me to wrap all this up, but between the constant distraction of the actual season 3 (which I'm loving, by the way, please don't cancel this show) and trying to start my own business, this last chapter may take a little longer than I'd intended. Thanks to all of you who've stuck with me so far. It means so much to me to know you are enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it. I hope you can all hold all just a little bit longer.

I figured I'd try I get this up today since we won't have a new episode to enjoy tonight. Happy US Thanksgiving from your friends to the north :)

Thanks, as always, to Joy, my beta extraordinaire! Your attention to detail constantly amazes me and I truly appreciate how you always manage to force the better writer in me out onto the page.

* * *

Chapter 6

"_There's no place like home."_

The wooden door rattled on its hinges as Peter slammed it shut behind him with a force not nearly strong enough to vent the maelstrom of emotions threatening to eat him alive. The noise echoed off the vaulted ceiling of the otherwise silent lab, startling a low 'moo' from Gene. If Peter had been in a better state of mind, he might have questioned his sanity as he absently acknowledged the lab's resident bovine, but the nod didn't even register as he stalked amongst the benches laden with glassware, monitors and discarded packages of Red Vines, headed for the back office.

He'd almost made it to the only sanctuary he had left, when the hulking shadow in the middle of the room drew his gaze. Turning, Peter eyed the deprivation tank with a curious mixture of awe, revulsion and nostalgia. It seemed like another lifetime, those first days of their then-tentative allegiance when their worlds had been irrevocably changed. He certainly never thought he'd get to a point where he longed for those times when ignorance, in retrospect, truly was bliss.

They were out of options.

The euphoric relief, that had washed over him when he'd managed to convince Olivia's doppelganger to help them end this war once and for all, had dissipated quickly when it became apparent that she was as much in the dark about her mission as they were. She had no way of crossing worlds herself, let alone stage a rescue attempt or counterattack. Peter's despair only grew with the realization that both women were essentially trapped in worlds that were not their own, their fates held in his father's hands and there was nothing he could do to help.

Unconsciously, he drew a finger along the cool metal of the tank's handles, suddenly overwhelmed by the memory of Olivia standing there in a white fluffy robe, eyes alight with a fire he'd never seen in another person, every line of her body taut with determination to save the man she loved, whatever the cost. He realized now, with no small amount of wonder, that it was the same flame that had crowded out the fear as she'd stood in front of him, heart in her hand, risking everything to show him where he really belonged.

And he'd returned the favour by leaving her behind.

Peter's heart twisted painfully in his chest as he dropped to the nearby piano bench, his eyes still trained on the doors of the tank, his mind knee-deep now in memories. He was pretty sure that he'd loved her a little bit even back then, as she'd fought to save another man. He may have threatened to leave, toyed with the idea on nights when Walter became unbearable, but Peter knew that that he would've never gone far. She'd already had a hold over him, a solid tug in his chest whenever she was near, a bond that had only grown stronger with every new discovery, every new hurdle.

During those heady days after they'd returned from Jacksonville, Peter had allowed himself to dream for the first time in as long as he could remember. He'd finally thought that he'd found his place, wrapped up in this strange little unit that had become his family, with Olivia by his side. He'd been right, but unfortunately, it had taken him seeing just what was on the other side of the looking glass to truly understand that.

He was never going to forgive himself. If he hadn't have walked away in anger, she would have never had to follow.

Needing to outrun the sense of helplessness that threatened to paralyse him, Peter pushed off from the piano and continued his path toward the back office. The momentum didn't carry him for long, however, and he crumpled to the battered couch that lay under the window just inside the door, dropping his head to his hands.

How could he not have noticed? From the moment they'd met, Peter had been cataloguing all things Olivia, squirreling away every little scrap that she had been willing to share of herself into his considerable memory.

It had started out as simply a habit, his instinctive need to gather as much information as possible in case it could ever be used to get him out of a jam. With her, the habit quickly became an obsession. The more she let him see, the more he wanted to know: what was it that truly drove her, what was hidden behind those dark eyes, what would it take to get her to actually rest for a moment, what made her smile? It had taken him a while to realize his motivation behind this sudden thirst for knowledge. For a genius, he had his truly dumb moments. Then, he'd mastered the art of denial, keeping his heart locked up tight for fear of upsetting their delicate balance.

Screw balance; he'd write her freakin' sonnets if he thought it would bring her back.

Shifting deeper into the seat, Peter frowned as the cushions seemed lumpier than usual. Reaching behind him, his heart clenched painfully as his fingers made contact with a familiar grain of fabric. Holding his breath against a sudden wave of crushing sadness, he drew a well-worn black blazer from the depths of the couch.

Absently, he fingered the lapel of what he'd often thought of as Olivia's suit of armour. He'd teased her more than once about having a different shade of black for each day of the week. The material was softer than he'd expected, pilling in places from years of wear. Reflexively, Peter buried his face in the collar, the subtle trace of her, still lingering after an unknown number of days, an exquisite torture. Pulling back, his gaze was drawn to a flash of light against the dark cloth. Closer inspection revealed it to be a single strand of long blonde hair, clinging to the back of the jacket.

Carefully, Peter grasped this tiny piece of Olivia between trembling fingers as the dam within him finally broke.

* * *

Everything was finally, blessedly quiet. The roar of the fire, the shouts and gunshots had dissolved into a soothing void. The darkness was cool and surprisingly solid, offering support as the humming of her nerves eased and the random sparks of energy along her synapses slowly weakened. She felt both weightless and grounded as weariness seeped into muscles that ached right through to her bones.

The fire bled from her body, a relentless chill rushing in to take its place. She needed to maintain her body temperature. Blindly, she stretched just beyond herself one last time, keying in on the only source of warmth within reach. She eased herself towards it carefully until the unyielding cold gave way to a soft, somewhat damp cushion that offered a modicum of relief to the singed skin of her fingertips. Dropping her face to the strange, spongy surface, she let herself slip back into oblivion.

* * *

Eight steps from the door to the window, six from the window to the bedroom. By the eleventh circuit of her new digs, Liv finally gave up pacing and dropped into a ratty, overstuffed chair. Not exactly the Carlton, but it was definitely a step up from her cell in the Federal Building.

Olivia may have had a meeting of minds with the powers that be on this side, but Broyles was not exactly ready to let her completely off the leash. She couldn't really blame him. She was having a hard enough time wrapping her mind around her sudden moment of enlightenment, so Olivia wasn't surprised to find the rest of them a little less than convinced.

Running a hand absently through the auburn strands of her hair, Olivia tried to sort through the muddled mess of relief and dread that filled her heart. She felt lighter somehow, relieved of the heavy burden of a life that wasn't hers. She wasn't sure what she had expected when the truth inevitably came to light, but Olivia knew that it hadn't been this. They'd made it much too easy for her, these people, so different and yet so much like her people back home. As soon as she'd been willing to help, they had seemed to let her in with open arms and immediately put her to work.

It had been remarkable to observe the two Bishops tossing ideas and theories back and forth across the interrogation room like a pair of well-practiced jugglers. Watching Peter interact with he who was essentially his kidnapper, Olivia couldn't help but marvel at the force of nurture over nature. The love that he felt for this broken version of the powerful man she knew and feared back home was clearly visible, despite any anger Peter was still harbouring after discovering the truth of his origins. He was comfortable here, whether he realized it or not, certain in his position in this unusual alliance ... this family.

All she could do was sit and watch, speculating, not for the first time, if the Olivia of this world would've been able to do anything different. Soon, the thoughts were too many to be contained within the tiny room and they had all spilled out into the bullpen, quickly being joined by Broyles and Agent Farnsworth. Their Astrid was vastly different from the Looker she knew back home, warmer, her mind released from the shackles of logic that bound the woman who crunched mountains of data in her world. Olivia supposed that, given the chance, she might enjoy getting to know this one. A smile tugged at her lips with the thought of just how much Charlie and Lincoln would get a kick out of this unlikely and undisciplined team.

Still, any warm fuzzies aside, she'd been unable to forget for long just what her place was in this group. The heavy weight of Broyles' gaze had been a constant reminder that she was an outsider, a threat, that he knew who she was and that he was waiting for her to make one wrong move. The others, Walter and Astrid, had allowed themselves to forget for a moment, slipping into what she imagined must be well-worn roles before suddenly tripping on the reality of who she was, eyeing her awkwardly before their gazes had skittered away in their attempt to pick up whatever thread they'd dropped.

Navigating Peter, however, had been the worst. His attentions had seemed to be constantly divided, urging his erstwhile father along in his postulating, but keeping a constant eye on her. The fury and accusations that had darkened his irises earlier in the interrogation room had dissipated, but they had been replaced with a crushing desperation and longing that had left her raw and aching. The elder Bishop would throw out some outlandish suggestion and Peter would snag her gaze, the beginnings of a smirk drawing up his lips before he'd remember that she wasn't the woman with whom he'd apparently shared these moments. All she could do was watch, frozen, as he checked himself and refocused on their task, his jaw set more tightly every time.

Eyeing his profile, she had found her mind replaying every moment she'd shared with Frank back home. For just a second, she'd let Peter's dark, brooding countenance fade into Frank's lighter, smiling eyes and she couldn't help asking herself if he would go to the same lengths to rescue her? Would _she_ try to defy the laws of physics to bring him back home? When she'd first insinuated herself into this woman's life, Olivia had been certain that her double's existence was merely a sad shadow of her own, that she'd cut herself off from friends and family, from anyone who would dare to love her. However, watching the fervour with which this rag-tag group of people worked to get her back, Olivia couldn't help but wonder if there was anyone in her own life who cared about her this much.

In those hasty moments when she'd been tagged for this mission, Olivia hadn't questioned the order, understanding the urgency of their situation. Now, her stomach roiled as she considered what her superiors had truly intended her to do. Had there ever been an exit plan? Had bringing her home ever been part of that plan? Was she simply cannon fodder, as Bishop had so eloquently put it?

A derisive snort drew her head up from where it had been resting in her hands, bringing her face to face with a man she didn't recognize. Embarrassed at being caught off guard, she jumped to her feet, eyes questioning, curious as to what this agent could possibly want.

"Has there been a development?" she asked, slipping into a defensive stance as she realized with sickening clarity that the man before her didn't strike her as an FBI agent.

He actually sneered at her before answering, sending a paralyzing chill through her veins.

"You're being recalled," he replied, his disinterested voice tinged with a noticeable British accent.

Olivia's gaze darted around her assailant looking for help, hoping to see her keepers charging through the open door. However, the entryway was empty. Glancing down, she caught sight of an arm sprawled across the threshold, attached, she was certain, to the now dead guard who had been watching the entrance. She was on her own with this.

Not waiting for an explanation, Olivia launched herself at the invader, channelling her fury at letting her shields down into rearranging the guy's face. Her fist connected with his jaw with a satisfying crunch, sending him reeling, blood coating her knuckles. However, he recovered quickly, catching her in a tackle, and sending them both to the floor, flipping her over and pinning Olivia on her stomach.

With a vicious thrust, she reared up, trying to buck him off, but he held on tighter than a bull-rider, slipping his arm around her neck as she brought them both up to their knees. Frantically, she flailed against the increasing pressure on her windpipe, fighting the red haze that threatened to overtake her. Grasping at his arm, Olivia caught sight of the blood on her hands. In the dim light of the apartment lamps, she was sure it had a silver sheen.

As the blackness crept in, overtaking everything else, Olivia could've sworn she heard, "Never send a woman to do a machine's job."

* * *

A vanilla-scented curtain of gold cascaded down around him, shielding them both from the chaos and uncertainty that had become their world. Her green eyes were nearly black, filled with an intensity that was both familiar and unlike anything he'd ever seen in her before. Holding his gaze tightly, Olivia eased forward, settled and Peter bit back a gasp as he was suddenly drawn deep within her exquisite warmth. For a moment, neither moved, content to revel in the overwhelming feeling of missing pieces being slotted into place.

Finally, Olivia shifted slightly, sparking a delicious frisson that rippled up his spine, setting his eyelids fluttering uncontrollably. She smiled knowingly and Peter let an answering smirk crease his lips. It had apparently been way too long for him if he was this far gone so early in the game. Still, he was content to let her set the pace, offering no resistance as she leaned down, capturing his lips while she gently pinned his hands above his head.

Suddenly, the warm soft circle of her fingers solidified into something cold and unyielding. Struggling fiercely against his bonds, Peter opened his eyes to his father's stony gaze.

Fury and horror fought for dominance as the reality of being trapped blew away the warm haze that had shrouded his thoughts like a blast of frigid wind. The icy fear crept deeper into his soul as he realized that he was strapped into Walternate's machine, a live recreation of the Observer's prophetic illustration.

Energy buzzed around him as he tried to free himself, humming and building as his heart rate reached critical. Walternate simply watched with a poker face to rival Peter's own, his grim countenance a striking contrast from the soft and always lively face of the Walter he knew back home.

Home; it had taken him much too long to figure out where he truly belonged and now it was too late.

The world beyond his father shimmered brightly and Peter wondered absently if this was how his world, the other side, appeared to Olivia.

His father's voice refocused his thoughts, the words seeming to come from within Peter's own mind.

"You will meet your destiny, my son. You _will_ restore balance to the universe, whatever the cost."

The air crackled as a tremendous force grew like a wall around him, intensifying the shimmering, shifting his vision like light through a prism. Peering past his father's left shoulder, he caught a glimpse of all he'd held dear: Olivia, Walter, and Astrid gazing back, faces awash with defeat, deepening the fissures in his heart. Looking to the right, the light changed, bringing into focus faces both familiar, but foreign: his mother, Charlie, the other Olivia, people living their lives, fighting for survival.

"It's up to you, son," his father smiled now, the benign gesture marred by the blackness of his eyes.

Peter renewed his struggles, tugging fiercely on his restraints as the thrumming around him moved within, stirring every atom in his body, setting every molecule vibrating, threatening to tear him and the very fabric of the universe apart.

'_There are more atoms in the human body than there are stars in the sky.'_

The buzz became a whine as all around him dissolved into a blinding white, scorching his retinas and forcing his eyelids shut against the pain that erupted through his body as cells began to fly apart.

"You have the power to destroy us all."

"No!"

Peter came awake with a strangled cry, his body flinging itself into wakefulness as though he'd been electrocuted. Blinking reflexively, he fought to purge the images from his mind, subtly rocking back and forth as he fell back on a well-practiced mantra.

"Please don't dream tonight, please don't dream tonight."

It was too little too late.

Coming back to himself piece by piece, Peter registered the familiar walls of the office, taking stock of each piece of furniture, making certain there was nothing out of place, that he truly was still home. His eyes were drawn down to his lap when he realized that his fingers were clenched tightly and found that he had Olivia's blazer in a death grip. He once again drew the jacket to his nose, taking in the soothing scent of vanilla, trying to recapture those precious moments before it all went to hell.

The frantic rattling of metal on metal snapped him out of the heavy fog that had settled over his mind. Expelling the rest of the dream on a heavy sigh, Peter rose on somewhat shaky legs to investigate.

In the dim light of the bench lamps, the lab seemed almost eerie and while it truly had a been a place of nightmares over the last two years, Peter felt safer within these grey walls than anywhere else on either Earth. The clatter started again, drawing his gaze to the far end of the room, to Gene's corner.

"Making a break for greener pastures again, Gene?" he called across the darkened room, trying for his usual jovial tone and failing miserably.

The cow merely became more agitated, her hulking shadow swaying back and forth as she pushed herself against the gate, lowing insistently.

"What's the matter, girl?" Peter, all joking aside, edged his way cautiously across the room, senses on full alert, scanning the darkness for signs of movement. Not for the first time, he fervently wished that his consultant status with the bureau also included a weapon. The gate banged again loudly as the Holstein continued her apparent attempt to bust out of her stall. Keeping his gaze trained on the restless bovine, Peter palmed a scalpel from a nearby tray as he slipped closer to Gene's alcove. The low light that was trying to fill the cavernous lab reflected off the whites of the cow's eyes as she tipped her head back, nostrils flared, her body rocking back and forth as she appeared to be high stepping around something.

Rounding the last bench, Peter finally caught sight of the animal's source of distress. The body of a woman lay at her feet, curled up in the hay, lying just over the entrance of the stall. Every muscle in him seized painfully with a dizzying mixture of shock, disbelief and naked hope as he tried to assimilate the sight before him. Even here, in the shadows in the back of the lab, Peter would know her form anywhere.

"'Livia." Her name slipped from his throat as he finally wrangled his body into moving and he fell to his knees beside her, his makeshift weapon clattering to the floor.

Peter froze again, terrified to touch her, lest she disappear or worse, be cold and lifeless under his fingers. Then, he noticed it, the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders, and his heart kicked into overdrive. She was alive ... she was _home_.

Gently, he eased her out from under the gate, his mind reeling. He hardly knew where to start. Hands shaking, he slid the heavy weight of her russet hair off the back of her neck. Warm relief flooded his veins when he found nothing but a blank canvas of pale skin, marred by tiny pinpricks of scars from her visits to the tank. This was his Olivia.

He was having a hard time breathing, trying to keep up with the overwhelming tide of emotions that threatened to drag him under as Peter carefully rolled her into his lap, cradling her distressingly light body against his own. Faint tremors wracked her frame and he instinctively tucked her in closer, knowing he should move her to someplace warmer and more comfortable, but unwilling to budge in case he was still dreaming. If he was asleep, Peter never wanted to wake up.

However, this felt much too real, too raw, to be a dream. Her hair was slightly damp and she smelled faintly of sweat, antiseptic and charred flesh. Peter's stomach turned over when he noticed the cuts on her feet and the dark smudges that shadowed her eyes. Slipping her hand into his, he was surprised when she flinched, a tiny whimper slipping from her lips. Turning her palm over, his heart shuddered at the angry red burns that criss-crossed her palms.

"Peter?"

The pain had apparently jolted her back into consciousness. He glanced down to meet her fluttering eyelids, feeling helpless as she tried to claw her way back to awareness.

"Shh, I'm here, 'Livia," he whispered, trying to soothe whatever it was that had her brow furrowed so deeply. "You're safe."

She was barely coherent, he could see that. She needed rest and probably medical attention, but the persistent seed of doubt sown by her doppelganger refused to be rooted out just yet. He had to be completely sure. Careful not to startle her, Peter gently cupped her chin, drawing her unfocussed eyes to his.

"Olivia, I need to ask you something."

He was pretty certain that she wasn't really seeing him, but he took her shaky nod as a sign to continue.

"I need you to tell me what you said back on the other side." Swallowing thickly, Peter searched for a way to rephrase what he so desperately needed to know, the one thing only his Olivia would know. "I need you to tell me what you said to bring me home."

Olivia was quickly losing her battle with exhaustion, but he could see her struggling to form the words and he immediately felt guilty for presenting her with this one last obstacle on what had very likely been a tortuous journey. He had his answer before she could make a sound. He'd never met anyone so fiercely determined as his Olivia.

The words were barely a whisper as they slipped raggedly through her parched lips, but he could still hear the distinct note of triumph within them.

"You belong with me."

The tears that had been gathering from the moment he'd caught sight of her finally broke free of his lashes, slipping silently over his cheeks to join the moisture in her hair. The need to hold her overrode his awareness of her injuries for an instant and he gathered her as tightly to his body as possible, wanting nothing more than to tuck her deep within him and never let her out of his sight again.

Sleep was steadily reclaiming her and Olivia's body grew limp in his arms. Despite her weariness, she turned her face into his chest, seeking his warmth, her breath a balm over his heart.

"There's no place like home."

It took Peter a moment to decipher her muttered words, but they drew a watery laugh from his lips as they became clear. Closing his eyes tightly against the salty sting of tears, Peter choked back a sob. He'd never felt so full: full of emotions he couldn't even begin to categorize, full of questions, full of wonder for this truly remarkable woman in his arms. Ducking his head, he dropped his lips to her forehead, his words ghosting across her brow.

"Welcome home, Dorothy."


	7. Ding Dong the Witch is Dead

**Ruby Slippers**

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing related to Fringe, just the thoughts in my head.

**Rating**: T (violence and mildly suggestive situations)

**Summary**: There's no place like home – a journey both within and without as Peter and Olivia find their way back to each other.

**Spoilers: **Post-ep to Over There 1 & 2

**Author's Notes**: Sorry for the repost. Not sure if it was a problem with my browser, but I couldn't seem to fix a glitch in the chapter any other way. I didn't know ff was going to treat it like a new chapter. Okay, you know how I said that chapter 7 would be the end? Well, apparently my muse had other ideas. I was banging my head against a wall, trying to wrap everything up in 8-12 pages and just couldn't do it. Then my beta and sbz both said "why end it there?" So, armed with a renewed sense of plot, I ploughed ahead. Now, it looks like there will be 10 chapters in total. Thank you to both of them for freeing me up from my writer's block. By the way, don't let this one's subtitle fool you.

Thanks to all of you who have stuck with this and especially those who've taken the time to share your impressions with me. It means a lot to know you're enjoying the ride. I'm certainly enjoying writing it. I hope you are willing to hang on a little longer.

Thanks, as always, to Joy (molamola), my beta extraordinaire! Thank you for 'playing through the pain' to get this done. You are truly remarkable.

* * *

Chapter 7

"_Ding, dong, the witch is dead."_

The slow, steady beep of the cardiac monitor offered an almost soothing counterpoint to the erratic rhythm of his own heart. They'd been here before. The sense of déjà vu was so pervasive that Peter found himself biting down on the inside of his cheek, hard, at intervals nearly as regular as her breathing just to remind himself that he wasn't dreaming.

Olivia was home. She was safe and he was never letting her out of his sight again.

Getting from the lab to the hospital had happened without him really registering the transition. Peter didn't know how long he had stayed on the floor, huddled at Gene's feet cradling Olivia, before the sharp sound of hurried heels against linoleum had echoed through the musty stillness. Astrid had appeared beside them then, phone already pressed to her ear, calling for an ambulance.

He had no idea what had prompted her to return to the lab so late at night, but he was grateful for the young agent's quiet competence then because he'd been only this side of functional since Olivia had simply appeared in Gene's stall like a gift under a Christmas tree. It was as though his mind was stuck, caught in some endless feedback loop, circling incessantly around what had been unimaginable less than six hours earlier.

Olivia had found her way back to them.

The paramedics had to practically pry them apart. Even once he'd relinquished his hold, Peter had refused to go very far, remembering with painful clarity how things had played out the last time he'd let Olivia disappear through hospital doors. So he'd held firm, his dark scowl quickly cowing any attempt to send him away. The ER staff had finally relented, stuffing him into a cramped corner, wedged between a crash cart and a narcotics cabinet, standing helpless as they barked questions at him for which he had no answers. Each new question had only fed the ice solidifying in his veins as his ever-active mind conjured up scenario after scenario that could account for her lacerated feet, scorched fingertips and severe dehydration.

His newly-returned nightmares would have fodder for years.

When he'd first dragged her out of the hay and into his arms, Peter had assumed that Olivia's injuries weren't too serious; he'd assumed wrong. Although it thrummed steadily now, Peter would never forget the terrifyingly rapid heartbeat that had cut through the din of the treatment room as the hospital staff raced to stabilize her. All he could do was watch, useless, as her neurons seemed to fire at random, each twitch of her body a sharp stab to his own heart.

He should've figured it out sooner.

And have done what, exactly? Unlike the woman in front of him, he couldn't just walk between worlds like passing through a curtain. Even once he'd discovered the truth, he'd been unable to help her, impotent, standing on the wrong side of the looking glass while the woman he loved fought her way home on her own. Some knight in shining armour he was.

Guilt hung heavy like an albatross around his shoulders, dragging him down into the pit of self-loathing he was so handily creating for himself. He systematically catalogued the visible signs of her trauma, wishing for the umpteenth time that he could've been there for her, that he might have shielded her from some of the blows. The hint of a grim smile tugged at his lips. Even in self-flagellation, Peter was being realistic. No matter how much he wanted to protect her, Olivia would always throw herself into the fray, and if he was being truly honest with himself, Peter would admit that it was one of the many things he loved about her.

A tiny whimper escaped her lips, drawing his focus back outward. The peace of a restful sleep was gone, her brow furrowed as she fought, yet again, with all that sought to destroy her. However, this time things were different. This time, he wasn't useless.

'_Peter, help her ... help her calm down.'_

This time, he knew how to help. Mindful of her injuries, Peter edged closer, carefully slipping his hand between her bandaged fingers, offering the only anchor he knew. All he could do now was wait.

* * *

She was hurtled back into consciousness by her head slamming into an unyielding steel floor. Blinking back the bright stars of agony exploding behind her eyes, Olivia grappled with her spinning mind and tried to take stock of her surroundings.

She was still alive; she hadn't been expecting that. Her shoulders ached from her arms being stretched behind her, wrists burning from the constant friction from what she was certain was a pair of handcuffs. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, the stark interior of a utility van came into focus, the rhythmic thrum of road noise now noticeable through the static in her ears. They must truly plan to send her back to the other side and she wasn't sure if she shouldn't consider that a fate worse than death.

A week ago, she never could've imagined the life she'd been thrown into. A week ago, she was doing her job, trading affectionate barbs with Charlie and Lincoln and coming home to a man who loved her, confident in her place in the world. A week ago, she would never have thought that she would be risking it all to stop a war she hadn't even known existed. She could've never imagined that she'd make the choice to leave everyone she cared for behind, and pin her hopes at stopping some potential apocalypse on this dark, haunted version of herself and the motley crew of law enforcement and lunatics who loved her enough to have her back.

She was going to miss having that kind of back-up. The enormity of her decision was only now setting in, pressing steadily against her chest, threatening to crush her completely. She was well and truly alone … and if she didn't do something soon, she was going to die alone.

Carefully, she edged her gaze towards the driver's seat, releasing a tiny breath of relief when it became clear that her captor hadn't noticed her change in status. The hum of the road beneath her roared louder for a moment and she slid a few inches along the floor as the vehicle banked into a turn.

Time was running out.

Desperately, she cast her eyes around the stark interior of the van, searching for something, anything, she could work with. Despair and resignation twined around her throat, choking off what was left of her hope when she spotted them: three drywall brads bouncing around in the gutters of the floor panel.

Sending up a tiny prayer of thanks to the contractor who'd owned this van at some point, Olivia gingerly rolled herself over, mindful of the rear-view mirror, until her back was to her prize. Easing her aching body slowly, she shuffled soundlessly backwards, tracing every inch of the dirty panels with her hands.

Suddenly a sharp pinprick to her palm drew a hint of a smile across her face as she closed her fingers around the thin strip of metal.

Things were looking up.

* * *

The darkness was filled with screams, each pain-filled cry slicing through her consciousness like a hot razor. As each ragged wail trailed off into the abyss, another would pick up the note, one building upon the other until the cacophony became unbearable. Blindly, she pushed her way through the thick, oppressive heat. The heavy air reeked of charred flesh and weighed on her limbs as she fought to escape the chaos.

The noise coalesced into words like '_monster'_, '_murderer'_ and '_freak'_, slamming against her brittle body like linebackers. Gasping, she pressed onwards, like she always had, beating back the darkness and demons that dogged her heels, threatening to drag her down into the vortex.

"'Livia?"

A tiny shaft of cool, blue light lit on her cheek. Desperate for relief, she turned towards the source, tipping her head back, revelling in the blinding intensity contained within a pinprick.

"Peter?"

She knew it was a lost cause the moment his name slipped from her parched lips.

'_Peter's gone,'_ the voices taunted. _'He left you behind. No one is going to help you.'_

The light, however, didn't dim and she held fast.

"Olivia?"

The beam grew, the light encompassing more and more of the spectrum, slicing though the murky haze, enveloping her body in its soothing glow.

The voices were wrong. They had to be.

"'Livia, it's okay. I'm here; you're going to be fine." His words, an echo of what seemed like another life, drew her up, leaving her weightless. Eyes slipping closed, she leaned into his touch as phantom fingers ghosted along her jawline, smoothed the furrows in her brow.

"Peter." Her voice broke as cool, cleansing tears streamed down her cheeks, washing away the sweat and grime, washing away the darkness, sending it swirling in oily eddies back into the abyss.

"I'm here, Olivia. C'mon back, Sweetheart."

His voice was upon her now, his gentle breath whispered across her parched skin. If she could only just reach out...

Dragging her eyes open, she did just that, clawing her way out into the light.

* * *

"Hey."

The rasp of his voice was like sandpaper dragging across the open wound of her throbbing head, but it was still the most beautiful thing she'd ever heard. Olivia couldn't help the smile that spread across her face as the world slowly came into focus and Peter materialized before her. He answered her smile with a relieved grin that rivalled the late afternoon sun streaming through the windows.

That sweltering day in Bagdad when she'd met his cocky smile with an arched eyebrow and a desperate bluff, Olivia never would've imagined that Peter Bishop would go from being a means to an end to the centre of her world.

"Hey," she echoed, her voice deeper than usual, tired and careworn.

Despite the heady cocktail of relief and anticipation coursing through her system, she found it hard to keep her eyes open. Exhaustion tugged stubbornly at her senses, and for the first time in years Olivia just didn't feel like keeping up the fight. Peter's hand had migrated into her hair and the rhythmic sweep of his fingers through the strands was the final pull she needed to slip back into the nebulous haze of comfort his nearness brought.

'_Are you sure this is real?'_ The insidious voice from the darkest corners of her mind just refused to be silenced.

The sudden thought sent a paralyzing chill down her spine, tripping up the beep of her heart monitor to an alarming rate as her eyes snapped open. Frantically, she cast her gaze around the room looking for something, anything, to assure herself that she was truly home.

"Hey, Liv, shhh," Peter soothed, running a careful hand over her flushed forehead before framing her face in his fingers.

"You're safe, 'Livia. You're home; I've got you. It's okay."

As the terror faded from her mind, the adrenaline flowing through her veins dissipated and Olivia collapsed back into the pillows. She couldn't help the groan that escaped her lips as her head made contact with the lumpy cushion. Everything hurt, tiny sparks of pain lit from the tips of her toes to the edges of her eyelashes. Peter watched, eyes brimming with sympathy and no small amount of uncertainty as she shifted carefully on the bed, trying to find a position that was the lesser of a whole host of evils. She felt like she'd been hit by the proverbial bus. Apparently crossing universes and creating human fireballs took a lot out of a girl. A crushing wave of nausea and guilt crested over her senses as she reminded herself what it had taken for her to get to this point.

"What's wrong?"

Panicked eyes darted up to meet Peter's concerned gaze before she managed to school her features into something resembling the mask she wore every day. She really wished that Peter was not so adept at reading her. She couldn't talk to him about this, she _couldn't_.

What would she say?

'_Hey, Peter, your father's turned me into a walking blow torch?'_

She just couldn't see that going over well, so instead she replied her standard, "Nothing, I'm fine."

It was clear, however, that Peter wasn't buying it for a second, but he didn't push. Instead, he seemed to be bogged down in his own issues.

"God, Liv, I can't even imagine what you've been through. If I had realized that it wasn't you sooner, I-"

Olivia froze.

'_Peter will know.' _

The assertion that had pulled her through the endless hours of pain, torment and darkness crumbled at her feet as those few words dropped carelessly from his lips. He hadn't known she was gone. Her nightmare had been realized. She'd been replaced and no one had noticed. Fear curled sickeningly in her belly, a vicious feedback loop of questions and speculation. How long has she even been captive? Olivia had lost track of days in that hell-hole. Had her life been completely infiltrated? Had they even been looking for her?

Peter looked about as lost as she felt, scrambling for purchase as the road they'd been walking together all these years was suddenly tilted on its axis, leaving them with no idea where to go from there. Peter's mouth worked silently and she could see the rationalizations and reasonable explanations building behind his eyes.

Suddenly, she didn't want to hear it, didn't want to hear how her doppelganger had managed to slip beneath the radar of those who should have known her best. She wasn't feeling reasonable or rational right now. She was beaten and fragile, her chest so full of emotion that she feared that she might shattered from the pressure.

So, she did the only thing she knew how to do to survive; she yanked back on the reins of everything building inside of her, wielding her icy control like a weapon. She shut down whatever words were about to spill from his lips with the pointed glare of Agent Dunham, settling behind the mask she'd grown so comfortable in.

She should've known that Peter wasn't going to back down that easily. Olivia couldn't quite manage to hide the flinch as his fingers circled hers and he recoiled as though he'd been burned. With the way her life had been going these last few days, maybe he had been. However, he wasn't about to give up.

"'Livia, we need to talk about this."

Olivia fixed him with a look that clearly replied, _'No, we don't,'_ before slipping fully back into the only role in which she felt truly comfortable.

"Where is she now?" Her tone brooked no argument. The shield was firmly in place. Peter sighed heavily, finally conceding.

"Broyles has her in a safe house in Ashmont, over on Fuller." His fingers tentatively grazed hers and she stiffened, shaking with the effort to keep everything in check.

The shrill ring of Peter's cell ended their standoff, drawing him back in the molded plastic chair as he brought the phone to his ear. His eyes, however, never left her, and Olivia arched an eyebrow at his blatant disregard for hospital policy.

"Bishop."

A soft shuffling drew her gaze over to the door where Walter was easing himself quietly into the room. She couldn't help but return the smile the older man sent her way when he noticed that she was awake. However, Peter's tone quickly recaptured her attention. His face had darkened, setting Olivia's senses on alert.

"How? When?"

She strained her ears, managing only to make out Broyles' voice, but no words. Walter shifted restlessly behind his son, his body strung tight as he braced himself for whatever blow they were about to receive.

"Alright, I'm on my way."

She was already eyeing her IV, trying to discern the least painful way to remove it, when he ended the call, shoulders slumping under the weight of his now-visible exhaustion.

"What is it?" she asked, straightening in her bed, biting down hard against the wave of pain that rippled through her extremities.

"There's been an incident at the safe house; looks like a shapeshifter. Olivia ... the other Olivia's gone."

The blood in her veins ran cold at his words, but Olivia wasn't sure if it was the mention of shapeshifters or the woman who shared her face that was bothering her. Either way, they needed to get moving before the trail went cold. Carefully suppressing a wince, she eased her legs over the side of the bed.

"I'm coming with you."

Peter stared back incredulously as he placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. "You're kidding, right?"

The look she gave him could've peeled the paint off the walls, but he met her glower for glower.

"You can be as mad at me as you want, Olivia. You can forget that I came back to this world for you and that I would've never left you over there if I'd had a chance. At the moment, I don't care. All I care about right now is that you can barely sit up straight, you have second degree burns on your hands, your feet look like you've walked on broken glass and you just crossed the barrier between universes. You're not going anywhere until the doctors say you can."

Olivia crossed her arms defiantly, but made no move to follow as Peter turned and stormed out of the room, stopping only to fix his father with a pointed look.

"Don't let her out of your sight."

* * *

The lock gave way beneath her fingers with a satisfying 'click', freeing her left hand just as she released the breath that she had been holding for what felt like forever. Carefully, so as not to alert her captor, Olivia tilted her head, trying to get a line of sight through the passenger side window. There wasn't much to see, just the tops of utility poles disappearing and reappearing at regular intervals, the monotony broken now and then by the flash of green treetops. The rate at which they moved past the window suggested they were on a highway. The road noise had evened out beneath her a while ago. Traffic must be light.

She needed to move; they could be reaching their destination at any moment. Painfully slow, Olivia drew her legs into her body and shifted until she was seated in the shadows behind the driver seat. Bracing herself against the steady rocking of the van, she came up into a crouch, poised and ready. She'd been trained for this moment, but it didn't make the reality of what she was about to do any easier.

'_Survival of the fittest,'_ she reminded herself before lunging forward from the darkness like a cobra, thrusting her arms up and out before dragging the handcuffs back viciously across his neck. She felt the trachea crumple almost immediately as her captor flailed in his seat, trying to mount a coordinated effort to knock her loose. His right fist managed to connect with her jaw, but she only pulled back harder even as stars exploded behind her vision.

There was only one way out of this.

The van careened out of control, weaving back and forth into the oncoming lane. Now that she could see out the windshield, Olivia breathed a small sigh of relief to discover that the road they were travelling was empty. The swaying inside of the vehicle intensified, threatening to throw her off her feet. Determinedly, she hung on, trying to ignore the sickening gurgle of her captor's last breaths in her ear as she waited for his struggling to subside.

Finally, her strength was the only thing holding him up. Releasing her death grip, Olivia noticed the strange, greyish hue of the chain-shaped ligature marks. However, she didn't have time to consider subtleties for long. The van lurched suddenly as it ricocheted off a guard rail running along the right side of the bridge they were apparently now crossing. The impact changed the vector of the vehicle dramatically, sending it hurtling for the other side of the span. Frantically, Olivia lunged for the steering wheel to correct their course, but it was too little too late.

With a sickening crunch, the van collided with the opposite railing, the force of the impact buckling the metal before it pulled loose from its supports, leaving the vehicle dangling precariously over the water rushing several feet below.

Olivia sucked in air greedily, trying to feed her racing heart as she willed the adrenaline surge to subside enough to think clearly. A loud groan as the van nosed downward towards the river snapped her back into sharp focus. Turning away from her handiwork, she carefully edged her way to the back door. It was time to go.


	8. A heart is judged by how others love you

**Ruby Slippers**

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing related to Fringe, just the thoughts in my head.

**Rating**: T (violence and mildly suggestive situations)

**Summary**: There's no place like home – a journey both within and without as Peter and Olivia find their way back to each other.

**Spoilers: **Post-ep to Over There 1 & 2

**Author's Notes**: So, this took a lot longer than I'd expected, but in my defence, I did get sidetracked with _Surfacing_ for a while there. Needless to say, this story has obviously become completely AU, but I hope you're still enjoying it as an alternative version (or universe) to season 3. It's not nearly as creative what the show has come up with, but I'm still having fun writing this.

Thanks to all who have stuck with this and especially those of you who've taken the time to let me know what you think. I really enjoy hearing about what's working for you and what isn't. Please continue to let me know your thoughts.

Thanks, as always, to Joy, my Random Comma Slayer! I couldn't do this without you.

* * *

Chapter 8

"_A heart is not judged by how much you love; but by how much you are loved by others."_

The insistent beep of the heart monitor was driving her crazy.

Walter wasn't exactly helping things, either. The older man sat silently in the chair Peter had vacated almost twenty minutes earlier, alternating his gaze between her and his lap, where his fingers traced intricate and unknown patterns through the air. He seemed to be searching for the right words, and Olivia knew from experience that it was often better to let him puzzle things out on his own.

She'd never quite developed Peter's knack for bridging the gap between Walter's fractured mind and the rest of the world. When Peter had left them after ... well, after, she'd felt the loss on more levels than she had ever expected, not the least of which was in the uncertainty that had blossomed in her gut at the prospect of having to handle Walter without his strongest tether to reality. While Astrid had an amazing rapport with the damaged scientist, and Olivia had been slowly rebuilding her relationship with Walter after coming to terms with their shared past, neither woman could draw lucidity out of him as effortlessly as his estranged son.

Watching the elder Bishop now, Olivia wasn't any more certain of where to start than he appeared to be.

"I'm so sorry, Olivia."

The words were uttered so softly, she wasn't even completely sure he'd spoken.

"What, Walter, why?"

His muddled mind suddenly focused sharply and he captured her gaze, his grey eyes shining.

"I'm sorry, Olivia. If I'd noticed it wasn't you sooner, if I hadn't asked you to risk your life in the first place, if I hadn't been so selfish as to think I could save Peter all those years ago-"

"Walter, stop," she hissed, raggedly, his last words driving a hot lance through her heart.

He started at her vehemence and she softened, reaching out and gently cupping his cheek, feeling the moisture gathered on his weathered skin.

"Stop," she repeated quietly, but firmly. "Don't apologize. Never apologize for saving Peter."

Walter screwed his eyes shut tightly and Olivia maintained the connection, willing him to hear what she wasn't saying, to understand that even knowing what she knew now about universes and balance, a world without Peter just wasn't an option.

"Walter," she whispered, not entirely sure he hadn't fallen asleep. He flinched, reminding her of a child playing ostrich. "Walter, I need you to do me a favour."

He opened his eyes then, and the pain and recrimination in their smoky depths nearly knocked her back, but there was something else buried in the darkness, something that looked remarkably like love.

"_When they said you were dead. When I saw you lying there ... I don't know what I would've done."_

His words from after her last hospital stay filtered through her thoughts, tightening her chest and clouding her vision with unshed tears. Despite all the damage he'd wrought through the arrogance of his youth, Olivia couldn't help but want to ease his burden, if only just a little. He was the closest thing to a father she'd ever had, and while they might never completely repair all the cracks, both in the universe or the man, she hoped that she could at least relieve a small amount of suffering.

Once she was certain she had his attention, Olivia swallowed, hoping she was doing the right thing. "Could you get my jacket for me, please?"

Turning, Walter spotted her clothes draped over a hook behind her IV stand. Rising from his seat, he snagged the garment, and returned to Olivia.

"Are you cold, dear?" he asked, holding the coat open like he meant to cover her with it. "I'm sure we could get one of the nurses to bring another blanket, or I could call Aster and have her bring up the comforter from Peter's bed. It's eider down, very warm. I bought it last year from a place called Bed Bath & Beyond. However, I am not entirely certain what they meant by their reference to the 'Beyond'. I saw no evidence that they sold any funerary accessories."

Olivia couldn't quite stifle the laugh that bubbled out at his ramblings, her chest growing ever tighter. God, she'd missed him_._

Her sudden mirth didn't go unnoticed and Walter smiled in return, his eyes going soft and twinkling with quiet pride at having succeeded in making the ever-stoic Olivia Dunham laugh.

Olivia revelled in the brief moment of levity, knowing it wasn't going to last. "It's okay, Walter," she replied, taking the jacket from his grip and pulling it into her lap to fumble through the pockets.

Her fingers closed over cold metal and she stilled, the smile drifting from her face, uncertainty creeping in at the edges of her mind. She knew this could backfire spectacularly, but she had a promise to keep.

"I have something for you," she said quietly, drawing her closed fist out into the open.

Taking his larger hand in hers, Olivia turned it palm up and, holding his still-smiling gaze, she pressed the silver dollar into his calloused palm.

He glanced down, eyes alight with curiosity. When she pulled her hand away, he froze, his cheeks sagging, and lips trembling with barely contained emotion. Olivia's heart thrummed painfully behind her ribs as she watched him struggle with his composure. He looked to be torn between crumpling into a mess of tears and hurtling the coin across the room. She only hoped her next words wouldn't make matters worse.

"She wanted you to have it."

Walter's eyes flew to hers, pupils nearly black with grief, shining in the dim light of the hospital room.

"Elizabeth?" Her name slipped brokenly from his lips and Olivia realised that he likely hadn't spoken the word in years.

Sucking in a deep, steadying breath, she nodded before continuing, "She wanted you to know that she understands, and that she forgives you."

His tears flowed freely now, and Olivia could feel twin hot tracks tracing their way over her own red cheeks. "She just wants us to keep him safe."

A broken sob slipped past Walter's lips and he reached out to clutch her hand, pressing the silver dollar between them.

"I'm trying, Olivia."

* * *

"Damnit!" he muttered, slamming his palm against the steering wheel for what was probably the third time in as many minutes.

The station wagon's engine roared as Peter gunned it through the tail end of a yellow light. The safe house had been trashed, furniture strewn around the tiny apartment like broken toys, streaks of both blood and mercury colouring the walls and faded carpet.

She'd fought hard. He wouldn't have expected any less; she was Olivia, after all.

Peter's gut twisted painfully. He was worried about her, he couldn't help it. She may have started out a spy, but he'd watched her change, watched the wheels turn behind her eyes as she shifted and grew into a more accurate mirror of the woman he'd known and ... loved for what felt like forever now.

He swore again under his breath, dragging the ancient station wagon into a somewhat precarious turn as he tried to sort out the mess that had become his mind.

She'd almost sucked him in, the other Olivia. He'd been so eager to dive into this new relationship, to prove to himself that his destiny truly did lie on this side, that she'd almost slipped beneath his radar... almost. He would've never forgiven himself if she had. Some part of him felt like he should be relieved that she was gone, one less complication in their already twisted lives. However, his heart wouldn't let him. Regardless of how things started, she didn't deserve any of this.

They hadn't found a body, but that wasn't really all that surprising. Peter knew that they wouldn't have left it behind, not if they had taken her form. The thought made his skin crawl and he drove the accelerator into the floor.

The evening classes had let out an hour ago and the campus was nearly deserted. Pulling into a rare empty space in front of the Kresge Building, Peter brought his cell phone to his ear. Although he was anxious to get back to the hospital, back to Olivia, especially with another shapeshifter running around, Peter wanted to bring Astrid into the loop.

Any sane individual would've been home by now, tucked in with a book or trying to push the day's horrors out their head with mindless television. However, he was willing to bet good money that Astrid was still puttering around the lab, and Peter knew that they could really use her insight and steadying influence.

"Peter." She answered on the second ring and she sounded nervous.

"Everything okay, Astrid?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Nothing," he answered with a chuckle. "Are you in the lab?"

Off her quiet, "uh huh," he continued, "I'm out in the car. Wanna come up to the hospital with me and play ringleader to the Bishop Boys' Circus of Horrors?"

"Um..." she was definitely nervous. "I'm not sure that's going to be necessary," she prevaricated.

"Is that Peter? Tell him to pick up some ginger ale." Walter's voice filtered through the connection, setting Peter's blood to simmer, his muddled mind coalescing on a single thought.

He was going to kill them.

"What part of 'don't let her out of your sight' didn't you understand, Walter?" Peter demanded as he stormed into the lab.

The scientist in question lifted his head up from the compound microscope, blinking myopically at his son.

"I didn't, son," he replied matter-of-factly. "We simply changed venues."

The sigh that escaped the younger Bishop's lips sounded more like a growl as he raked his fingers through his hair, scanning the room for the AWOL federal agent.

"Where is Olivia, Walter?" he asked, his patience wearing thin.

"I'm right here," she replied, striding purposefully out of the office into the main lab.

The black and white armour was back, her blazer freshly pressed. She'd wrestled her still-red hair into her customary ponytail; only the bangs fringing her face left any indication that something was different. If it hadn't been for the dark circles under her bloodshot eyes, and the slight but noticeable hesitation in her step, Peter might have been able to convince himself that it was just another day in the lab.

The problem was that it wasn't just any other day. He'd only just got her back from God knows what hell, there were shapeshifters roaming the streets, possibly wearing her face, and he was not about to pretend that everything was normal, not even for her sake.

As she rounded the bench, Peter brought himself up to his full height, blocking any further progress with a well-placed glare.

"I seem to remember the doctors saying something about keeping you for observation."

She met him with a glower of her own. "I've been observed enough to last me a lifetime."

Realising all that she hadn't said with those words, Peter softened marginally, but didn't back down.

"You need your rest."

"What I need," she replied through clenched teeth. "What I need is to figure out what the hell is going on before this blows up in our faces."

Likely sensing the tension building like a pressure wave between them, Walter cleared his throat loudly, breaking their silent standoff.

"Fear not, Peter. After Agent Dunham detailed to me the circumstances of her ordeal, I felt that it would be prudent to have her here at the lab where I could better determine if there had been any lasting effects."

Peter tried to ignore the hurt that squeezed his heart at the realization that Olivia had willingly shared with his father the details of her capture, information she'd probably never relate to him, but something must have shown on his face. The set of Olivia's jaw eased ever so slightly, and her eyes became luminous in the hazy halogen lights. Then the rest of Walter's words settled within his brain and his dejection was quickly replaced by worry,

"I'm fine, Peter," Olivia insisted, anticipating his train of thought.

Peter arched an eyebrow at Walter.

"As far as I can tell, Olivia does indeed seem to have come through without any permanent damage," Walter replied.

The woman in question smiled triumphantly, but Walter wasn't finished.

"I do, however, think she would benefit from a good night's sleep."

The agent whirled on the good doctor, and if looks could kill, he would've dropped where he stood. Peter, however, sent a smile over her head, drawing a conspiratorial grin from the older man.

Stifling a laugh at the melodrama playing out before her, Astrid brought them back to more pressing matters. "I'm almost afraid to ask this, but did they find her body?"

Peter sobered immediately. "No, but that's not really surprising. We never did find Charlie."

Olivia's flinch made him instantly regret his words. Still, it needed to be said. "Either way, Broyles has got a BOLO out for anyone that looks like you."

"Fine," Olivia replied, pulling her coat from the back of a nearby chair. "Let's go."

"Go where?"Astrid asked before Peter could voice the question.

Taking advantage of Astrid's distraction and ducking around him, she made a bee-line for the door. "To find my double, or the shapeshifter who's replaced her."

Taking two long strides, intending to head her off at the mass spectrometer, Peter opened his mouth to argue when he spotted an opportunity. Switching gears, he fell into step behind her.

"Fine, but _I'm_ driving."

* * *

"What the hell are we doing here?"

Olivia blinked furiously, trying, and failing miserably, to make it seem like she hadn't nodded off. Her cheeks flamed with a mixture of fury and embarrassment. Despite her best efforts, she'd dropped her guard and he had steered them right to her apartment without her noticing.

Peter simply smiled, confident that he was going to win this round.

"_We_ are going inside and then _you_ are going to get some rest."

Olivia simply glared at him, seatbelt firmly in place. Peter couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips; she reminded him very much of her seven-year-old niece at that moment. Laughing, he unclipped his own belt and opened the door, the cool night air ruffling the strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail during her nap.

"You can sit and sulk all you want, 'Livia. I'm going inside."

She met him at the door.

"Since when do you have a key?" she asked, trying to mask her growing disquiet with petulance. Just how long had she been gone?

Turning on his heel, Peter cut her off before her thoughts had a chance to turn too dark.

"Since you let me drive," he replied, jingling her key-ring like sleigh-bells.

Her exhaustion must have been truly getting to her. Of course Peter had her keys. When Walter had called Astrid to help spring Olivia from the hospital, the junior agent had brought around the Navigator, along with a change of clothes and Olivia's keys, which she had found in her supervisor's office in the lab. It seemed like a lifetime since Olivia had left them there for safe keeping when she'd crossed universes to essentially save the world.

Her frustration returned, both with the residual pain that made it impossible to stay focussed and with her companion. Whether or not he had a valid point, Peter was still handling her; she could see it in the worry hiding behind his smile and the careful way he held himself, bracing for her next volley. Despite the fatigue dragging her down, the fight hadn't left her yet, but she was not about to have this argument in public. Snagging the keys from his hand, Olivia quickly unlocked the door and pushed her way inside.

Peter wisely fought back a laugh as he trailed Olivia to her apartment. Even with a slight limp, she was all but stomping down the halls.

She stormed through the door with a renewed sense of purpose. Fine, they weren't out in the field, but she could maybe make progress from here. Olivia carefully scanned the room, searching for any clue as to where her doppelganger might have gone once the wheels had come off the wagon. The place definitely looked lived-in and Olivia tried hard to hold back the wave of nausea that swept through her gut as she took note of the unmade bed, scattered papers and a pair of mugs adorning the coffee table in her living room. Peter dogged her steps and his continued hovering, coupled with the growing uneasiness as the pieces laid out before her coalesced into an increasingly disturbing picture, pushed her irritation to the breaking point.

She whirled on him. "Look, Peter, if you're not going to help, you can just leave."

Peter snorted derisively in response. "I've been trying to help you from the moment you woke up."

They both knew he wasn't talking about their latest shapeshifter crisis.

Her reaction was instinctual. "I'm f-"

"You're not fine, Olivia."

Both of them started at the vehemence of Peter's response.

Sighing heavily, Olivia swept her hand up over her hair, smoothing the wisps back into her messy ponytail.

"I don't have time for this, Peter."

Peter clung tightly to the ends of his fraying patience, knowing that if he pushed too hard, she'd retreat farther than he could reach. Still, he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"I don't have time for you to pass out from exhaustion. You need rest, Olivia." He was starting to sound like a broken record, but it needed to be said.

Her eyes flashed with anger as she stepped into his space. Even after nearly three years at her side, Peter still fought the urge to step back in the face of her fury. Instead, he braced himself for the onslaught that he knew was coming.

"What I _need_ is for you to stop treating me like an invalid," she hissed, bringing herself up to her full height, her body practically vibrating, dulling the ache that had been her constant since she'd opened her eyes. "What I _need_ is for you to stop hovering like some damned Florence Nightingale, because you have some bizarre compulsion to overcompensate for the guilt you feel for leaving me over there and shacking up with my evil twin."

Peter froze as her words hit him square in the chest. Resentment bubbled up into his throat, but he swallowed it back, his movements careful and controlled, consciously trying to remain the rational one in this conversation.

"Okay," he began cautiously, his hands balling into fists. "I'm going to write that incredibly low blow off as the exhaustion talking."

Olivia, however, was itching for a fight. Emotions were roiling within her: anger, frustration, fear, and pain. She grappled with her shame at the depths to which she'd had to descend to get home and fought back the despair at finding that home had been co-opted, all of her feelings and insecurities swirling into a mass of confusion, reigniting the fire within her core. She desperately tried to tamp it down as the pressure grew quickly. She needed to refocus her energies on any outlet and Peter was the closest target.

"No, Peter, you don't get to do this. You don't get to be the white knight, swooping in to rescue the damsel in distress. I don't need rescuing and I don't want to be placated." She raked a shaky hand up over her head, pulling a few more tendrils of hair loose from their confines. "I've been through hell, Peter. _They_ put me through hell, but I fought my way back, I did things ..." The memory of agonized screams sent a tremor through her body but her momentum couldn't be deferred. "I found the way back, but to what?"

Peter sensibly stayed silent, the ache in his heart magnifying with every beat as he watched her come apart before him.

"She took over my life! She took over my home," Olivia swept her arms around her. The heat was quickly overtaking her, swelling out from her centre, coalescing in her fingertips and panic seeped into her heart. She was quickly losing control.

"Liv." Peter's voice snapped her out of her spiral, and for a moment the pressure within eased ever so slightly.

She couldn't let him see her like this; she had to get herself back under control, but as her eyes once again lit on her dishevelled bed, the reins fell from her grasp.

"She took over my bed, Peter, my friends, _you_. I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know where to even start ..."

The room was growing hazy as the fire surged through her veins with the hammering of her heart behind her ribcage. Olivia grasped at words, trying to put a voice to the building chaos in her mind, but they simply spun away out of her reach, sucked into the maelstrom of feelings that were now churning uncontrollably.

"'Livia," his voice was coloured with an equal mixed of awe and fear. "You're glowing."

Peter watched in alarm as the light he'd first thought was his imagination grew in intensity, the air crackling between them.

She couldn't see him anymore through the shimmering waves of heat, but his voice held her rooted, her last tether keeping her from being scattered by the pressure behind her chest.

"Peter," her voice was barely audible beneath the roaring in her ears.

Needing to offer some form of connection, Peter reached out a steadying hand. The results were instantaneous and brutal. As his fingertips made contact, the pressure in the room dropped precipitously before the energy between them exploded with a crack, the catastrophic dissipation of heat blowing them apart to opposite sides of the room.

Ears ringing, Peter shook off his shock, easing himself slowly to his feet. The apartment looked like it had been struck by lightning. The floor was singed in the spot where they'd stood, the furniture scattered to the outer edges of the room by the explosive decompression.

He found her behind the couch, sitting with her legs under her, staring at her hands. For a split second, his vision filled with white tulips and snow, but the image was gone before he could begin to comprehend its meaning. Pushing the thought aside, Peter crouched down beside Olivia.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, his hand hovering uncertainly over her shoulder.

Olivia refused to look at him, mumbling in the general direction of the floor.

"Yeah, I think I've cooled down enough by now."

Peter brushed off another strange wave of déjà vu before finally making contact. Nothing happened, and he couldn't help the sigh of relief as he trailed his fingers down her arm before clasping her nearest hand in his. Although she kept her gaze firmly rooted on her lap, Olivia leaned into his touch, and his lips twitched with the hint of a smile, knowing that he could offer her some modicum of comfort. As he took in the devastation surrounding them, however, Peter knew that they couldn't just leave this one.

"What was that?" he asked, knowing that he was going to have to be the one to start this conversation.

Olivia blew out a heavy breath before finally turning to meet his gaze. Her olive eyes shone with pain and reproach and it took his breath away. Carefully, Peter edged himself in closer, releasing her left hand to slip his right arm around her waist. He reached out with his left hand, taking up her fingers again, cocooning her with his body, hoping to afford her as much support as he could. The fact that she was even letting him spoke volumes about just how fragile she was.

"That," she replied, clearly disgusted with herself, "is what happens when I lose control, when I can't hold it all back." She paused, searching for a way to make him understand without having to rehash the details. "I don't have to be scared anymore."

Peter's eyes went wide with recognition. "Cortexiphan?"

Olivia nodded.

"Damnit, Walter," Peter cursed, remembering the grainy image of a terrified little girl in a burnt-out room. After a significant amount of prodding, his father had finally relented and shown him the video upon their return from Jacksonville.

"He may have given me the ability, Peter," Olivia continued, pulling him back to the present. "But, the way I've used it..." Her voice broke and he pulled her in closer. He'd never seen her so shaken, and, frankly, it scared him.

"What happened?"

It all came pouring out in a rush of shaky words: the grey room, the tests, flames and death. Peter's gut twisted painfully with each new horror; his only reprieve was discovering his mother's role in Olivia finding her way back. He held her hand tightly, squeezing her fingers every now and then, a reminder her that she had an anchor. Her skin was still warmer than it should be, but he held fast, not sure he'd ever be able to let her go.

When the last of her story slipped from her parched lips, Olivia gazed up at him hesitantly, afraid to find fear and disgust staring back at her now that he knew the monster, the freak she'd become. She held her breath, watching the play of the light from the overturned table lamps flicker across his face, bracing herself for his rejection.

It never came. Instead, Peter strengthened his hold, drawing soothing patterns against her side and whispering into her hair.

"You did what you had to do, 'Livia, and I'm so sorry that I wasn't there to help you."

Peter tugged her head under her chin and she sagged against him in relief, tears tracing cool tracks down her still-overheated cheeks. She breathed him in deeply as his low voice rumbled through her hair, detailing what had happened on this side, soothing her fears and erasing the images of betrayal that had taken up residence in the darkest corners of her mind.

He faltered when he reached the point of the story describing the tea and conversation he'd shared with her doppelganger, and Olivia pulled back to meet his eyes, offering silent encouragement. They'd made it this far and after everything they'd been through together, she wasn't about to pull out now.

"In the interest of full disclosure," he continued, "You need to know that I did kiss her." After everything she'd been through, the hurt that flashed across Olivia's eyes was like a slap to the face, but Peter ploughed forward, needing her to understand. Sliding a tentative finger under her chin, he tilted her gaze up to meet his more fully, thankful that she was still willing to let him lead now and then.

"Liv," he whispered, leaning into her ever so slightly. "That's how I knew it wasn't you."

"How did you know?" she breathed, afraid to disturb this new, different and delicious tension that was growing between them.

"Because it didn't feel like this," he answered on a breath, before carefully sliding his lips over hers.

He breathed life back into her, pulling her up from the darkness. His faintly calloused thumbs swept across her cheeks, smoothing away the saline trails that ran through the faint dusting of freckles, before finding their way into her hair. Slowly, he pulled her heavy locks free from their confines and they cascaded down around them as Olivia rose up to settle herself more fully against him, straddling his lap.

Warmth was building within her again, but there was no panic this time. This was a gentle heat, comforting, calming, and she welcomed it, wrapping her arms tightly around Peter's neck as she drank deeply from his well of strength. His hands had found their way to her back and he held her firmly to his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat, tripping up in an echo of her own. She granted his questing tongue entrance to her mouth as he pulled something between a moan and a whimper from her throat. With shaky fingers, she gripped him tightly, wanting nothing more than to pull herself inside of him and finally rest.

'_This is home.' _

"I knew it."

The familiar voice, tinged with both amusement and annoyance, snapped them apart almost as quickly as their earlier shock.

Turning simultaneously, Peter and Olivia gazed up to find the other Olivia glaring down at them among the carnage of the apartment.

"I knew this whole mess was just some inter-dimensional lovers' quarrel."

The couple could only stare back, searching for the right words as Peter felt Olivia's hand surreptitiously reach for her weapon. Her double seemed oblivious to their discomfort as she strode over to the one chair still standing and dropped down with a sigh.

"So, what's next?"


	9. I think I will miss you most of all

**Chapter 9**

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing related to Fringe, just the thoughts in my head.

**Rating**: T (violence and mildly suggestive situations)

**Summary**: There's no place like home – a journey both within and without as Peter and Olivia find their way back to each other.

**Spoilers: **Post-ep to Over There 1 & 2

**Author's Notes**: I'm so sorry for the delay; between building a new business and writing web content, this got sidetracked. Not to mention the incredible difficulty of writing a scene with two characters with the same name who look identical. Remind me never to do that again. Anyway, this is truly the second last chapter this time. All that's left after this is the epilogue.

Thanks to all of you who have stuck with this and especially those of you who've taken the time to let me know what you think. I hope you've enjoyed what has become my alternate first half of season 3. I never intended for this to take so long. Do let me know what you think

Happy birthday to my best friend and beta, Joy. Your real present is coming , but hopefully this will tide you over, even though you had to work for it :)

* * *

**Chapter 9**

_'I think I'll miss you most of all.'_

The mantle clock ticked loudly from its new position under the couch, each second echoing ominously against the hardwood floor in the otherwise silent room. Olivia edged herself off of Peter's lap into a crouch, her hand sliding to her hip only to find her holster empty. Her sidearm must have slipped out in the explosion. Scanning the carnage that was her apartment, she spotted her Glock under the chair her doppelganger was currently occupying. A quick glance at their intruder confirmed her suspicions that the Fringe agent knew it was there and was prepared to snag it if necessary.

Peter, for his part, eyed their newcomer carefully, looking for any sign that she'd been replaced by the shapeshifter that had taken out her guard detail. After Charlie, he'd promised himself that he would never be fooled again. He spotted no immediate red flags, but there was only one way to be sure.

Liv eyed the couple expectantly.

"So, what'd I miss?" she asked, angling herself more comfortably in her chair. When an answer wasn't immediately forthcoming, she ploughed on. "From the looks of things, quite a bit, but first things first," her eyes cut to her counterpart, a smile tugging at her lips. "Welcome home."

The FBI agent nodded stiffly, coiled and ready to fight, their last encounter still fresh in her memory.

Sensing his partner's distress, Peter stood, seeking to defuse the tension that was building again in the room. Reaching down, he offered a hand, surprised when Olivia took it and braced herself against his weight, pulling herself to her feet.

"So, what happened to you?" he asked, trying to seem nonchalant as he edged closer to their otherworldly visitor. "If the Bureau's accommodations were not to your liking, I'm sure there were other ways to let us know."

Liv fixed him with a glare he knew well, but from a different set of eyes. "Some guy came bustin' into the place and says I'm being recalled. Next thing I know, I'm face down on the floor of this van racing along the turnpike to God knows where."

Keeping his gaze trained on their intruder as she wove her story, Peter palmed a shard of broken mirror, just the weapon he needed, that lay atop the arm of the loveseat. A quick glance at his partner confirmed that she understood his plan and was ready to play her part.

"How'd you escape?" she asked, wondering, not for the first time, at how it felt talking to her reflection.

"Let's just say that he hadn't quite mastered his defensive driving skills."

The rueful smile that ghosted across her doppelganger's face tugged at a spot deep in Olivia's chest, and she knew that the Fringe agent wasn't a shapeshifter. The guilt she could see in her eyes at having to take a life was a feeling she knew too well. Still, Peter would need to be satisfied.

As if reading her thoughts, he lunged forward, and she joined him, snagging her double's left arm and wrenching it around into a hold, while Peter rucked up the sleeve of the woman's blue sweatshirt and raked the glass down the exposed skin.

"Hey! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Olivia held firm until she saw blood bloom, crimson and untainted, from the wound, then she backed off, knowing just how strong her counterpart's left hook was.

"We just needed to be sure," Peter replied, unapologetic.

"Sure of what?"

He dropped the shard, adding to the mess at his feet. "Sure that you weren't a shapeshifter."

Liv's eyebrows rose sharply as understanding dawned. "So that's what he was. I knew something wasn't right about him."

As the tension finally left the room, Liv tucked her hands into the pockets of her sweatshirt, searching for something to say. The owner of said sweatshirt watched her warily, and a wave of shame threatened to sweep her feet out from under her as Liv took note of the evidence of what that Olivia must have gone through to get home. Her fatigue was palpable, but the FBI agent was holding herself together with every ounce of strength she had left.

"I'm glad you're back," Liv said finally and immediately wished she'd been able to come up with something less lame.

"Thanks." A spark lit eyes that were indeed a shade darker than hers and Liv found the words she'd been looking for.

"Look, I'm sorry for all of this," she continued, sweeping her arms out as a vague attempt to encompass her role in taking over this woman's life. "I know I could say that I was just following orders and while that would be true, it would in no way excuse what I took from you."

Olivia stood stoic and Liv wondered at their differences despite the mirror image. There would be no way that she could stay still if the shoe had been on the other foot.

"No," the FBI agent conceded. "It doesn't, but I get it. You had no reason to trust me … to trust us."

"Yeah, well, I just wanted you to know that I see the big picture now and I want to help."

A faint smile broke Olivia's stony countenance and Liv couldn't help but answer with one of her own.

"We appreciate that," Olivia replied, casting a quick glance to Peter to make sure he shared the sentiment. "Oh, and I should apologize too."

"For what?" Liv asked, her brow furrowed.

The spark grew just a bit brighter. "For knocking you over the head with a lamp and tying you to a chair."

Liv laughed for what felt like the first time in years. "Somehow, I don't think we're quite even yet."

"I suppose not."

She arched an eyebrow. "I could always let you beat the crap out of me again."

Olivia's brow rose to match. "Peter would probably enjoy watching that."

"You know I'm standing right here, right?" the man in question's voice slipped up an octave, despite his best efforts. Two Olivia Dunhams were going to be the death of him, assuming any of them survived to see the end of the day. The grim thought drew him back to the matter at hand.

"As heart-warming and strangely creepy as this little truce is, we have bigger problems to worry about. Where there's one shapeshifter, there's usually more."

Both women hardened immediately into Agent Dunham, and Peter had to stifle a laugh at their unconscious symmetry.

"What's our next move?" Liv asked, her eyes drifting over the apartment, still wondering what she'd missed. Whatever it was, it must have been spectacular.

"They're just going to keep coming until they get you back over to the other side," Olivia surmised. "So I think we should do just that."

The others simply stared back at her like she'd grown two heads.

"Are you crazy, 'Livia?" Peter cried. "I know you're not exactly over the whole 'she took over my life' thing, but they'll kill her."

Olivia smiled reassuringly at her double. "Not if we get her to the right people."

Peter regarded his partner quizzically and waited for her to elaborate. She didn't disappoint.

"Your mother, Peter," she continued, reminding him of the role Elizabeth had played in her escape. "She helped me slip past the checkpoints. Your world may be dying, but she knows what Walternate is planning and she believes it's wrong, believes that there has to be another way. She's probably in hiding by now, but if Olivia can find her, I'm sure she could keep her safe; with the two of them working on their side, maybe we can figure this mess out once and for all."

His heart swelled with grateful warmth as Peter thought about his mother helping Olivia make it home. After what his father had put her through, it seemed fitting that his own flesh and blood would help repair the damage. Still, he couldn't fathom the Elizabeth Bishop he'd met plotting to subvert the Secretary of Defence. "Look, 'Livia, I know she got you home, but you're telling me that my mother is part of some sort of resistance?"

Olivia's smile grew larger. "Not quite, Peter," she replied, not entirely sure how much detail she wanted to get into at the moment. She's only glazed over the details, earlier, of William Bell's role in Elizabeth's life. "It's complicated. I don't think she planned the path she's on now, but she doesn't want to see anybody destroyed. Besides," she continued, her eyes softening. "Her son is on this side and she only wants what's best for you."

Before either of them could let the emotions she'd stirred up overwhelm them, Olivia returned their little ragtag group back to the problem at hand. "Anyway," she said, turning to her counterpart. "If we can get you back and you can find Elizabeth, she'd make sure you're safe."

Still trying to process this new world of warring universes, shapeshifters and stolen childhoods, Liv furrowed her brow in thought. "How am I supposed to get back? I can't cross over like you apparently can."

Olivia was quick with a solution. "I can probably flash you over, but-"

"Wait!" Peter interjected, crowding his partner, willing her to look at him. "What … no way, Olivia! I saw what it did to you the last time. There's no way I'm going to let you risk it."

Olivia met his glare with one of her own, her voice level and low. "Can you think of any other way to do it?" She may not have wanted her 'gifts', but she was damned well going to make use of every tool at her disposal.

Peter didn't relent; stepping closer, he towered over her. "You could barely move when I found you in the lab. Taking a passenger is only going to make it worse. Heath didn't even survive the first attempt. You've crossed over three times if you count the time Bell took you. How much is too much?"

The partners' argument dissolved into a silent standoff as Liv regarded them from the other side of the room, with no idea how to end the stalemate. It was obvious that this wasn't the first time they'd had this particular argument. The tension building between them was electric and if it hadn't been clear before, Liv was certain now that there would have been no way she could've pulled off her charade with Peter any longer than she had. Peter and Olivia's jaws may have been set in defiance, but their eyes spoke of a bond unlike anything she'd ever seen, and she had to bite back the bitter taste of jealousy as she realized that none of her relationships had ever reached these depths.

Before Liv could come up with something intelligent to add, an idea dawned across her counterpart's face.

"We can use another soft spot," the FBI agent ventured, her mind whirring behind her eyes. "I wouldn't have to work as hard to make the jump."

Peter visibly deflated, stepping back and running his hand through his hair. It was obvious that he'd lost this battle and was now steeling himself for the inevitable. Watching the scene unfold, Liv couldn't quite suppress the wave of fear that surged up from her gut. What exactly was she getting into?

Olivia smiled grimly, taking no real pleasure in her victory and already moving onto the logistics of the plan. "Okay, call Walter and find a location, then we'll-"

"No need," Peter replied, cutting off her train of thought. "I know just the place."

* * *

'_Are we there, yet?'_

The childish whine ran through his head as Peter navigated the road to Reiden Lake. Memories of weekend drives to the summer house flashed past his mind's eye like a slide show and he tried to tease out which were from Over There and which had happened after his abduction. He couldn't really be sure, and he found that he actually kind of liked the idea that his lives on either side had stitched together into one whole. If only they could do the same for the universes that had been left in the wake of his father's foolishness.

Now, he just wanted the drive to end. The tension inside Olivia's FBI-issue Navigator had built to the point that he was pretty sure it would register on a barometer. Walter had confirmed the soft spot still existed near his childhood retreat and they'd immediately set out for the lake. Now, all three were scanning the roads and surrounding landscape for anything out of the ordinary, hoping beyond hope that they'd make this flight under Walternate's radar.

They were so close, and Peter was about to suggest a round of eye-spy to alleviate some of the anxiety, when he caught sight of a vehicle closing in behind them.

"We've got company."

The two Olivias turned in unison to see a black SUV bearing down on their bumper.

Peter gunned the 8-cylinder engine, sending the truck hurtling down the tree-lined road at a speed that threatened to leave them careening out of control with one wrong turn of the wheel. Fear gnawed at his heart, and he swallowed hard against the nausea churning in his gut. Slipping his eyes up to the rear-view mirror, Peter began musing under his breath in an instinctive attempt to beat back his uneasiness.

"Why is it that bad guys always drive black SUVs? Is it like some universal constant or is it different on your side?" he wondered, throwing the ridiculous question over his shoulder to their charge in the back seat. "Are they always black Over There too, or maybe they're purple, or green or something else." His mind had totally slipped the rails at this point, but he couldn't help himself, needing an outlet for his growing agitation. He was beginning to truly believe that he was his father's son.

"Drive, Peter!"

The admonition came in stereo and it was enough to snap him back to the present. The first bullet landed dead centre in the passenger-side mirror, shattering the glass and causing Olivia to recoil in shock. The second drove a spider web crack through the rear window that left Peter grateful for the reinforced glass of the government-issue SUV. The tires crunched loudly on the gravel shoulder as Peter swung the hulking vehicle around a tight corner, buying them a few precious seconds of tree cover.

The Fringe agent, now more appropriately dressed in jeans, t-shirt and hooded jacket, twisted around and rolled down the driver's side window, the blast of moist air sending her hair flying behind her like a fiery mane. Carefully, she aimed Olivia's back-up piece at their followers. Firing off two rounds in quick succession, she was rewarded with the tell-tale whoosh of a blown-out tire. The pursuing SUV swung violently into the oncoming lane, its momentum pushing it into a spectacular roll down the embankment, disappearing into the shadows of the forest.

"Nice shot," Olivia gasped as her doppelganger sat back against the leather cushion, brushing a few stray locks out of her eyes.

"Thanks," she replied, not quite able to repress a grin of pride as she stowed the Sig in the waistband of her pants. "I've had a lot of practice."

Turning his attention back to the road, Peter sucked in a hopeful breath. The lake was in sight. Only a few more yards….

Suddenly, a force like a freight train caught the tail-end of the Navigator, wrenching it across the oncoming lane and slamming the broad side into the solid trunk of an old maple. Bullets rained down on them now, digging into the passenger side glass, carving it into a fragile mosaic.

"Olivia, get down!" Peter cried, palming the back of her skull, thrusting her sideways into the seat, and dropping his body over hers just as the glass reached its breaking point, sending tempered shards showering down over them and the next bullet into the driver's headrest. Breathing in large gulps, Peter tucked his nose into his partner's ponytail, trying to steady his erratic heartbeat with the soothing scent of her hair mixed with the leather upholstery.

"We need to get out of here, now!" Liv called over the din as she kicked against her door. The impact had crumpled the frame, wedging it shut.

His mind once again focused, Peter kept his head down and shoved open his own door, slipping to the ground behind the vehicle and pulling Olivia with him. The shrubs and two layers of metal provided at least some protection from the sudden onslaught.

Liv kicked viciously at her only escape route, her pounding unrelenting as panic slipped into the edges of her consciousness. They wouldn't leave her behind, not now, not after everything. A wave of sickening fear shot down her spine, and she thrust her legs forward as hard as she could. The latch finally gave as her heels connected soundly with the handle. Suddenly, four sets of fingers slipped into the cracks, and between her pushing and Peter and Olivia's pulling, the mangled metal creaked open enough to afford an escape.

A bullet sailed through the shattered windows, imbedding itself in the maple with a solid thud, then all went quiet.

The trio behind the Navigator held their collective breaths, and Olivia cursed their position. They were literally fighting blind. Seized with an idea, she sat back on her haunches, her eyes slipping closed as she pushed her consciousness up and outward, thought rippling around the trees down to the lakeshore, marvelling for a moment at how each attempt got easier to control.

"Uh, 'Livia?" Peter's hand fell heavily to her shoulder, shaking her gently. "I don't really think now is such a good time for a nap."

"Shh," she chastised, trying to maintain her focus. "They're coming up the road from behind us. I count three … no, four, circling around to our position." She opened her eyes and fixed Peter with a glare that brooked no argument. "We need to move to the lake, now! I'll lay down cover and you two go ahead."

Peter opened his mouth to argue, but her eyes made it clear that he wouldn't win and it would only waste time. Sliding his gaze to woman who was the reason they were here in the first place, he arched a brow in question. "You ready?"

Liv nodded solemnly before turning her eyes to their goal, mentally mapping the distance they had to cover.

"Go!" Olivia cried as she fired precise shots into the bushes behind them, aiming directly for each attacker as she saw them in her mind's eye. Once her final clip was empty, she took off after Peter and her counterpart, hoping she'd held the shapeshifters off for as long as they needed to make the shore.

She didn't manage to buy them much time, but it was enough. The three of them fell into a tangle of willows by the dock just as their pursuers regrouped and returned fire, switching back to the big guns and splintering the larger trees with energy blasts.

"We're not going to make it," Liv rasped as wood shavings rained down over their head. "I'll try and hold them off" she suggested, pulling their only weapon left from under her belt. "You two might have time to get away-"

Olivia cut her off, grasping her hand tightly and turning to catch her eye. "Not a chance," she hissed, eyes bright with determination, but Peter could see the darker shadows of resignation lurking in their depths. He knew what she was planning.

"'Livia, no."

"It's our only option, Peter."

"Can you even control it?" he asked, remembering the carnage of the apartment.

"I'm going to have to," she replied, scanning their position for a place to stand.

"Control what?" Liv asked, unsure if it was fear or curiosity colouring her voice.

Instead of answering, the FBI agent tugged her out into the open with a whispered, "Stay behind me and follow my lead."

Liv could only stare in disbelief as her double stepped further away from their only cover, hands in the air in the classic gesture of surrender. Peter followed, brow set, eyes grim, never straying more than a couple inches away. Although every molecule in her body resisted the idea of giving up, she followed, obeying Olivia's order and staying behind her human shield.

The woods were silent, save for the rustling of footsteps on leaf-strewn gravel as their would-be captors edged closer just as the three agents eased back towards the lake. Liv's boot connected with the dock, the sound of her heel hollow against the wood. Still, Olivia forced them backwards, leaving them truly cornered as Liv could now make out the faces of the shapeshifters moving in on them.

They looked normal, just like any other thug, and she supposed that was the point. The only red flag was the flash of silver dripping from the brow of the one who was apparently their leader.

No one spoke; their enemies simply closed in, weapons drawn, as though unsure of what they were walking into. Liv was definitely unsure. She was certain that these people with whom she'd entrusted her life were not actually giving up, but she couldn't fathom what sort of recourse they could possibly have with their backs to the figurative wall.

Drawing her eyes away from the guns pointed at her centre of mass, she cast a glance to the woman in front of her and had to bite back a gasp.

Olivia was glowing.

At least she thought she was; it was so subtle that it was unlikely the shapeshifters could see it, but Liv was certain that she could detect a faint glimmer dancing over the woman's shoulders and down her arms, concentrating in the palms of her hands. Looking closer, she could see that every muscle in Olivia's body was taut, strung so tight the agent was practically vibrating.

Peter wasn't much better. His expression even darker, he hovered as close to Olivia as he could without touching. Finally he broke the silence.

"Are you sure about this, 'Livia?"

"We're committed now, Peter," she bit back, as though it took a great deal of effort to talk.

"What can we do?" His voice softened as he broke the unspoken barrier and laid a gentle hand in the centre of Olivia's back. Liv was sure her glow flared brighter at his touch.

Her answer was strained as what looked like unbearable pressure built beneath her skin. "Hope I can aim; if not, hit the water as fast as you can."

Liv couldn't take her eyes off her double, watching, enthralled as the glow began to pulse with was she could only assume was the woman's heartbeat, it's rapid rhythm faltering every few seconds. The air around them was thick and heavy, like a weight pressing them to the ground. Suddenly the pressure broke, and a deafening roar, like an out of control forest fire, swept up from within the woman in front of her. The sound was immediately followed by a scorching arc of energy that thrust out ahead of the trio, sweeping across the boat landing like a giant blinding wave, consuming everything in its path.

It dissipated before Liv had barely registered its existence and their pursuers were gone. All that remained were blackened lumps amid the singed trees and ash. Shock held her immobile as she took in the devastation, suddenly understanding what had happened back in the apartment.

Olivia's knees threatened to betray her but she fought to keep upright. There was still more work to do. Peter's hand stayed firm on her back. He'd kept it there the whole time, certain in her abilities. Now, it held her up and Olivia could swear that she could feel his strength flowing into her, filling her voids. She couldn't see how something like that would be possible, but at the moment, she was willing to take whatever support she could get.

Once she was certain that she could move without falling over, Olivia turned to the woman behind her.

"It's time to go."

Liv followed the FBI agent back off of the dock. Olivia had reasoned that they couldn't be sure the structure existed on both sides and she didn't want to dump them both in the lake. Looking over at Peter, Liv couldn't help but feel a little like Dorothy saying goodbye to the Scarecrow.

She didn't know what to say.

He seemed to understand that and smiled in response, holding out his hand. She took it gratefully.

"I'm not sure sorry's the right word here," she admitted quietly.

"It's alright," he replied. "We'll figure this mess out one of these days."

Liv smiled at that. "Yeah, I hope so."

"Take care of yourself … and tell my mom-" his voice broke as he seemed to struggle for the right words.

"I'll give her your best," she said, hoping that he realized that she understood all that he was trying to say.

He nodded briskly, and backed off, leaving the two women a wide berth.

Olivia caught her gaze, her eyes full of conflicting emotions. Liv was pretty certain it was a look she mirrored. The FBI agent held out her hands, palms up, offering an anchor. Slipping their skin together, Liv shuddered at the jolt of recognition that rocketed through her veins. Her counterpart's wide eyes confirmed that she'd felt it too. Somehow that knowledge settled her a little and she found the words she'd been searching for.

"This whole ride has been completely surreal and I know you had it a lot harder." A shadow darkened Olivia's face at her words, but Liv ploughed forward. "I know I'll never fully be able to make up for what I did to you, but if there's anything I can do-" The warm hands tightening around her own derailed her thoughts.

"Just help us fix this," Olivia rasped, and Liv couldn't help the sudden wave of compassion that washed over her. They were alike in so many ways, and she just wished that this Olivia could find some of the peace in life that she'd enjoyed up until now, that she could just stop fighting long enough to let the people who loved her close enough to help her make her stand.

Casting a quick glance over her shoulder, she couldn't help but smile at the obvious concern written all over Peter's features. Apparently, the people who loved her were going to help Olivia whether she wanted them to or not.

Turning her gaze back to the subject of her thoughts, Liv nodded solemnly. "We'll figure this out," she replied, borrowing Peter's words.

Moment over, Agent Dunham slipped back into her role.

"This is going to be quick, so hold on until I tell you to let go," she instructed.

Liv chuckled wryly. "Do I need to click my heels together three times?"

Olivia arched her brow in response before her eyes softened again. "And since there won't be any time for goodbyes over there, be safe."

Her eyes had slipped closed before Liv could answer in kind, so she followed suit, feeling a little silly standing there, holding hands on the edge of a lake. A strange rush of vertigo suddenly raced down her spine, leaving her knees wobbly. The air chilled and shifted around her. She felt a whisper of a voice, but she couldn't make out the words and then her hands were empty.

Opening her eyes, the Fringe Agent was stunned into silence. Peter and Olivia were gone. The ash and smoke that had burned her nostrils had been replaced with the crisp air of an autumn evening, the scorched forest replaced with the parched trees that were so characteristic of the Blight.

She was home.

* * *

Strong arms were around her before the world had even come back into focus, pulling her tight against a broad chest as her legs gave way to gravity. Letting go, Olivia slumped against Peter's body, allowing him to slowly ease them to the sooty ground.

"Shh," he whispered into her hair. "You're home; you're safe. You're gonna be fine."

Her lips quirked up at his words as she let herself melt bonelessly into his warmth, thinking for the first time in a long first time in a long while that maybe he was right.


	10. I won't look further than my backyard

**Ruby Slippers  
**

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing related to Fringe, just the thoughts in my head.

**Rating**: T (violence and mildly suggestive situations)

**Summary**: There's no place like home – a journey both within and without as Peter and Olivia find their way back to each other.

**Spoilers: **Post-ep to Over There 1 & 2

**Author's Notes**: Well, gang, this is it. It took a little longer than I'd hoped, but we've finally come to the end. It's been a fun ride and I hope to do this again sometime soon. I enjoy the challenge of writing plot-driven multi-chapter stories and Fringe is a great source of inspiration. However, I'm sorry it takes me so long to finish them. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks so much for your reviews and support. I love hearing what worked and what didn't for you and your words of encouragement really kept this going. I hope this epilogue lives up to expectation.

Thanks, to my best friend and beta, Joy. I bet you never thought you'd be asking me to write longer chapters. Thanks for your always insightful and extremely fun edits. There's no one I'd want to be wielding the figurative 'red pen.'

* * *

**Epilogue**

"_If I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own back yard."_

Agent Lincoln Lee shuddered as a gust of wind slipped past the collar of his jacket, sending a frisson down his spine. Grumbling, he pulled the coat tighter around his body, biting back a wince as the underlying fabric of his shirt rasped against his still healing skin. Turning, Lincoln eyed the Fringe Headquarters looming up behind him with a curious mixture of longing and derision. A small, childish part of his brain wished he could turn the clock back a week, back to when life was normal and all he had to worry about was ragging Charlie about his 'spider' infection and reminding Olivia to go home and rest now and then. Sure, they'd had a few quarantine scares now and then, but that was nothing compared to the mess he was currently knee deep in.

Sucking in a steadying breath, he beat a path along the bustling Manhattan sidewalk, every brush of a passing pedestrian a hot lance to his damaged nerve endings. He never should've left the hospital.

If the doctors had had their way, he would still be there. Third degree burns over eighty percent of his body was not a trivial injury. Every cell in his epidermis felt like it was alive, a constant uncomfortable tingle as the nanites slowly pieced his tissue back together. While they'd assured him the healing process would go quickly, nothing would be fast enough. He'd checked himself out yesterday with the promise to return to the outpatient clinic regularly for sessions in the regeneration chamber and to top off his blood-oxygen level, but he couldn't just sit there while his team felt apart around him.

Olivia had been labelled a traitor, Charlie was in holding, suspected of aiding in her escape, 13 men were dead and eight injured in some unexplained explosion on Liberty Island and no one from the DOD would tell him what the hell was going on.

The whole damn mess reeked of a conspiracy.

Lincoln sighed; he'd never been the paranoid one, usually leaving the spinning of wild theories to Charlie, but there was no way any of this had gone down the way the official report was reading.

His Livvy wasn't a traitor.

His Olivia also didn't just follow orders blindly. Lincoln was certain that these 'invaders from the other side' had a role in this. Just what did they know about these people? If they'd created the holes that had plagued his world for most of his life, had they done it on purpose? Was the Secretary right? Did they really intend to destroy his universe and if so, why?

It just didn't make any sense. There were too many pieces missing. Had Olivia filled in the blanks?

He'd only managed wade through the crowd moving upstream on Lafayette for two blocks before strong fingers clamped around his wrist and he was roughly yanked sideways into the shadows of a nearby alleyway. Before he could even register the agony of his tender skin slamming against the brick wall, a heavy hand settled over his mouth, capturing the hiss of pain that slipped from his lips. His hand was released only to have an arm press tightly against his chest, holding him in place against the building.

Blinking through the white-hot flares behind his eyes, Lincoln fought his attacker, trying to get some leverage so that he could use his knees to force them off. As the world came into focus, however, he stilled, staring into olive eyes that he would recognize anywhere.

"Liv?" His partner's name was muffled by her palm.

Her gaze softened, but didn't lose its edge of desperation as a tentative smile bloomed across her face.

"Lincoln," she sighed as though the weight of the world was sliding off her shoulders. He couldn't help but think that it probably was.

She eased her arm off his trachea, her body still strung tight as a bow, ready to take him down if it came to it. She wanted to trust him, he could tell. She wanted to know he had her back, like he always had, but the wariness just wouldn't dissipate from her gaze. Whatever she'd been through had left her questioning everything she'd ever believed.

Lincoln's gut churned. He had a feeling that whatever had passed for a normal life had just gone out the window. Reaching up, he carefully cupped her cheek, dragging her skittish eyes back to his.

"Liv, I'm here. Whatever you need."

The hope that shone behind her gaze nearly knocked his knees out from under him, but he'd never been able to deny her.

"Always?" she asked, her voice rough and he couldn't help but wonder if it was from lack of use or something worse.

His body wavered, his systems stretched to their limit by the energetic drain of healing and worry. Every muscle ached and his skin was on fire. His eyes threatened to roll back into his head from exhaustion, but Lincoln forced himself to his full height. Flashing Olivia what he hoped was something resembling his trademark grin, he dropped his hand from her cheek and reached out to snag her fingers, squeezing them as tightly as his weakened muscles would allow.

"Always."

* * *

A wayward sunbeam slipped through a crack in the curtains, working its way across the bed before finally settling over her face, warming her eyes through their closed lids. The growing warmth roused Olivia from her slumber, drawing her from the comforting darkness of a truly blank mind for the first time in a very long while.

Drawing in a deep breath through her nose, she couldn't help the smile that ghosted across her lips as she found herself surrounded by all things Peter. He'd herded her up to his room last night when they'd arrived back at the house from Reiden Lake. As expected, he'd insisted that she take his bed. Despite its size, there were only two bedrooms not crammed with stuff in the old house Peter shared with his father and there was no way she was going anywhere near Walter's room. Of course, she'd tried to refuse Peter's offer, insisting she'd take the couch, but it was really only out of habit.

The truth was that she'd needed to be here, comfortable and warm, wrapped up in his scent, listening to the soft rumblings of what she assumed was Walter bustling around the house. It felt like home, which should've struck her as strange since she'd spent very little time in the Bishop's house prior to Jacksonville, but instead it felt as natural as breathing; for once, Olivia wasn't going to question it.

Blinking back the last vestiges of sleep, she decided it was time to get up. However, the crushing wave of pain that broke over her body when she tried to lift her head from the pillow made her rethink that decision.

Sucking in shallow breaths in rapid succession, Olivia eased herself onto her side, riding out the last of the throbbing. Apparently jumping universes twice in a twenty-four hour period and creating human fireballs took a lot out of a girl. Gritting her teeth, she clenched her freshly re-bandaged hands, drawing her knees into her chest as she pushed back against the pain, scattering it like light through a prism. Slowly, the sharp edges dulled and her breaths evened out, tendons easing as the last of the fire faded and she once again felt human.

It was at that moment Peter decided to slip into the room.

"Oh, my God, 'Livia! Are you okay?"

He was at her side before she'd even registered his presence, too focussed on relaxing her spasming muscles.

"I'm fine," she breathed, moving to roll back onto her back.

With a muttered, "The hell you are," his arms slipped under her shoulders, guiding her progress. The ache had dissipated, but it had again left her body weak. Frustrated, Olivia flopped her head back onto the mountain of pillows they'd supplied her.

"I fine now," she huffed, fixing Peter with her best glare.

He eyed her appraisingly before apparently deciding not to push her any further. The line between his brows disappeared and his eyes lit up as he settled himself on the edge of the bed.

"You don't want to go out there, anyway."

Olivia waited for him to elaborate, knowing her 'why' was implicit.

"It's Tuesday," Peter answered matter-of-factly.

Her brows furrowed in confusion and Peter snickered, getting ahead of his own punch-line.

"Walter always goes naked on Tuesdays."

She cringed and shuddered with exaggerated distaste and Peter's chuckle bloomed into a full-blown laugh. Warmth flowed out from her chest at the sound, easing the last of the tension in her body and drawing a serene smile across her lips as she thought to herself, _'There's no place like home.'_

After allowing herself to savour the moment, Olivia sobered, watching Peter carefully. He seemed … normal, as though they had somehow reset the clock to before all of this mess, to before Jacksonville. She knew it had to be too good to be true. Ducking her head, Olivia snagged his gaze, sucking in a steadying breath before she burst this strange and wonderful golden bubble that had enveloped her morning so far.

"So, you and Walter?" She couldn't figure out an intelligent way to phrase the question, but knew he would understand what she was asking.

The mask slipped a little, revealing a hint of the pain and anger that had been simmering in his eyes before he'd disappeared from the hospital, from her life, from her universe. She wasn't sure what it said about her that she found the darkness actually a bit of a relief. However, the shadows had eased a bit, replaced by what looked suspiciously like hope. It was contagious, and the tiny flame in his eyes tripped her heartbeat up a notch.

"We're getting there," Peter answered evenly.

Olivia held her breath, waiting for the rest of what she knew he wanted to say.

"It's hard to hate someone who's broken the laws of physics to save your life."

Her pulse shot up even higher as Peter purposefully held her eyes captive with his own, pinning her back into the bed with the force of all he wanted her to understand. Energy built once again within her core, spilling out along her neurons, expanding into an exquisite pressure within her chest.

This wasn't fear, or anger; it was something else entirely … and it was beautiful, arcing between them as Peter reached out to trace calloused fingertips gently along her jaw, drawing a smile across her lips.

They were far from safe, the danger more immediate than ever. Universes hung in the balance and she really had no idea where to start undoing over twenty years of damage. She wasn't even sure that she could. Still, as Peter's hand drifted along her arm to tangle her fingers with his own, she had to believe it was possible. There was too much in her world to fight for now, too much that she just wasn't willing to lose.

His hand shifted, clasping hers tightly, settling her whirling thoughts for the moment, reminding her that she wasn't alone, that she had friends … family standing by her side, ready and willing to dive into the fray and catch her if she fell. However, the battle could wait until tomorrow. She was warm, safe and sleepy and for the first time in as long as she could remember, Olivia was going to take the day off.


End file.
